Going Home
by Titan5
Summary: John is sent back to Earth to recover from his latest set of injuries and decides to visit his father.  He is very surprised at the homecoming he receives.
1. Chapter 1

**Acknowledgements: **Special thanks to Shelly for reading and giving feedback and very special thanks to Kathy for doing the beta thing on several chapters. All mistakes are mine, as they were just lending a hand (or an eye). Also, thanks to flowk and her story _Outcomes and Consequences_. Although this story is not related to that one in any way, her portrayal of John's father is what gave me the idea.

**Note: **I apologize ahead for mistakes in the medical or military aspects of this story. I did research the material, but didn't find enough to be very confident about some things. Let me know if I made any hideous or glaring errors so I can try to fix them.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own them, just borrow them from time to time.

**Going Home – Chapter 1**

John sighed and shifted around in the back of the taxi. He was exhausted and hurting from the flight. It had been a while since he'd flown in a commercial airplane and he'd forgotten how small and cramped the seats were. They seemed even more so when you were nursing a bruised body and a myriad of still sore and healing injuries. He'd wondered two minutes into the flight if he was making a big mistake.

But he was on the ground now and about ten minutes away from answering a question he was terrified of. His stomach churned and rolled itself up into a tight knot of bare nerves. The slumped position his tired body had been in set up an ache in his broken ribs, so he leaned to his right to alleviate some of the pressure.

"Are you all right, sir?" asked the cab driver, peering at him through the rearview mirror. The driver was black with short cropped hair and a mustache, and had fussed over him at the airport like he was a long lost cousin. John smiled at the genuine concern in the man's voice.

"I'm just a little sore. I'm fine as long as I don't move," he quipped.

The man chuckled, a deep and sincere laugh that made John relax a little. "Well, maybe when you get where you're going, you won't have to move around much."

John's smile faded as he remembered where he was headed. "Yeah . . . maybe." His gut clenched even tighter and he found his heart rate climbing. Looking down in his lap, he realized he had his fists clenched and the movement was pulling on his injured shoulder. He took a long, deep breath and let it out slowly through his mouth.

"So, are you're home on medical leave? Or are you done?"

John stared at the back of the man's head for a second before remembering he still had his uniform on. "Medical leave. They sent me home for a little rest and recovery period."

"You been in Iraq?"

John bit his lower lip a second, trying to figure out what to say. He teetered between just lying and saying yes or giving some vague answer. He really hated lying, especially to someone who had been so nice and seemed more concerned about him than the man he was going to see. "No . . . it's kind of an out-of-the-way place. I doubt you've ever heard of it."

He watched the man's reflection as his eyebrows shot up. "Is it classified?" he asked almost hopefully.

John grinned at the man's growing excitement. "Yeah, I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."

"Really?" the cab driver almost squeaked.

John chuckled. "No, I've just always wanted to say that. But it is supposed to be classified. Covert ops kind of stuff." Might as well make the guy's day.

"Wow, that's really cool. You know, I have a lot of respect for our people in the military. My brother served in Iraq last year. He came home safely, but he saw a lot of guys who were injured or killed. When he tells us about it . . ." He shuddered involuntarily. "Well, let's just say that it scares me more than any of these horror movies they have out now."

"I know what you mean," said John softly. He was glad the guy didn't know what was really out there. He jerked his head up when they turned into a driveway, fear gnawing its way into his soul in a way the Wraith or Kolya could never manage. He sat there for a moment after they stopped.

"Sir, we're here."

John swallowed and gave a curt nod. "Okay… thanks…" He opened the door and worked to get his legs out the door. His right thigh was beginning to throb with the off and on activity and movement of the day so that he found himself having to almost pick it up to swing it out of the car. His left arm was in a sling and bound pretty tightly to his body to protect his shoulder, so he tried to push himself up with his right hand. He looked up to find a hand extended to help. He hadn't even noticed the driver getting out of the car.

"Thanks," John said, allowing the man to help him up. It was that or waste ten minutes trying to do it himself. He hated this part of the recovery period. He felt well enough to want to do things for himself, but his body just wasn't ready to cooperate.

The driver watched John sway slightly. "I'll get your bag for you."

"Not yet," he said softly, staring at the cream colored house with dark trim, the yard mowed and edged with the precision he expected. "I'll let you know in a few minutes if I'm staying or not." He tried to ignore the sympathetic look he was getting from the cab driver. It was time to do this.

John stepped forward, his stiff body protesting loudly at the new movement so that he had to lean against the car for the first couple of steps. But he refused to stop. If he stopped at this point, he might never come back and he was to the point he needed an answer one way or the other. He needed to end the wondering if there was any way to recover what he'd lost so long ago.

He paused at the steps, knowing it would be difficult. Clenching his teeth, he carefully picked his way up the four concrete steps and limped to the front door. Giving himself a minute to catch his breath, he told himself he didn't care how this worked out, as long as it gave closure to the matter. Summoning his remaining strength, he knocked firmly on the door.

A horrible thought crossed his mind. What if he'd worked up his resolve to come here and he wasn't home. As a wisp of panic fluttered in his belly a moment, he heard footsteps approaching the door. He was here.

John was prepared, but he still flinched when the door opened. He stood looking at a man his height, but with graying hair and deeper lines around his eyes. He was thin, like John, but with slightly wider shoulders. Green eyes stared at him from a hardened face.

"Dad?" He wanted to kick himself for the way his voice faltered, sounding weak and timid. He had promised himself he'd be strong this one time.

And then the hardened expression melted away and the eyes softened, glimmering a bit as extra moisture collected on them. The man who had looked like a statue just a moment ago seemed to falter. "John?" he asked, his voice so low as to be barely audible.

John didn't know what to do. At worst, he'd expected to have the door slammed in his face. At best, he had hoped for a minute to apologize and explain what had happened while his father looked on in judgment. For a moment, he was a child again and his father was looking at him with the love only a parent can have. It threw off his whole rehearsed speech.

"Uh, dad, I . . . I wanted to apologize and . . ."

His dad stepped out and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him in so tight he felt like his healing ribs were breaking again. He could barely breathe and the muffled, choked voice from his shoulder didn't help.

"No, John . . . I'm the one who's sorry. God . . . I was afraid you were dead and I'd never get to tell you. I'm so sorry."

Slowly emerging from shock, John brought his right arm up around his dad and returned the hug, burying his face in his father's shoulder and squeezing his eyes tightly against the burning tears he was trying to hold back. His heart was racing, leaving him lightheaded and terrified he'd wake up to find this had just been a dream. He had no idea how long they stood there before they pulled back, each wiping their face as if they weren't wiping away tears.

His father looked over his shoulder at the waiting taxi. "Are you staying?" His voice was low and shaky, adding one more helping to John's plate of surprise.

"I . . . I wasn't sure if . . . I have some down time and I thought . . . " John mentally slapped himself for his complete lack of verbal skills at the moment. His brain was scrambled and didn't seem to be connected to his mouth at all, leaving him feeling like a fool. Until his dad broke out in a big grin.

"I'll take that as a yes. Go in and have a seat before you fall over and I'll get your luggage. You have luggage, right?"

John just nodded. "Yeah, one bag. And I haven't paid the guy yet. I was waiting to see . . . "

A sad look flashed across his father's face for a second as the man nodded. "I understand. Go sit down son, you look done in."

John was suddenly afraid. This was way too good to be true. He had a mental image of letting the cabbie go and going in, only to have his father return and verbally attack him once again. He swallowed hard, uncertainty filling him as time seemed to drag by and his dad watched him.

"John . . . I've made a lot of mistakes. Please, give me a chance to make it up to you."

The sincerity in his father's voice combined with the love for his dad he remembered from his younger years to override his fear. "Okay . . . guess I'm staying for a while."

His dad grinned and nodded, bobbing his head up and down in excitement. "Good. We have a lot of catching up to do. Now go sit down while I get your bag." Without waiting, the man hurried down the steps and out to the waiting cab driver, who met him halfway up the path, John's bag in hand.

"He's staying?" he asked, jutting his chin out and narrowing his eyes at John's father.

John's father regarded the man for a moment before answering. "Oh yes, _my son_ will be staying, how much do I owe you?"

The cab driver shook his head. "You don't owe me nothin', I've got a brother who served…" As he turned back to the cab he caught sight of John still leaning on the door frame. John nodded his thanks. The driver could see the relief on the younger man's face and flashed him a quick smile and mock salute before turning away.

The living room was just as he remembered it, except there was a new sectional taking up most of the left side of the room. It was dark brown with an easy chair at each end and one in the middle. Nice. He eased himself down into the nearest one and let himself relax back into the cushions. The relief was almost painful. He knew he had been tired from the trip, but he hadn't fully realized how tired. Looking across the room, he noticed his dad had gotten a new TV as well. A nice big screen TV on a matching stand sat directly in front of him.

The door opened and his dad came in carrying his bag. "I'll just set this in your old room. I have it set up as a guest bedroom now, you'll be comfortable in there." He disappeared down the hall, returning a few seconds later. "Would you like something to drink? A beer maybe? Or is it too early for that?"

John smiled and shook his head. "No, I can't. I'm still on medication and under strict orders to stay out of the alcohol. Which kind of ruins the fun of being back home and truly off duty. I haven't had a beer in . . . I don't even know when."

"I have tea or Coke or I could make us some coffee."

John thought his dad looked like he was ready to bust at the seams to get something for him and, truth be told, he was thirsty. "How about a Coke?" That actually sounded good since they didn't get them very often, even with the runs from the _Daedalus._

"Great." The older man rubbed his hands together and made a bee-line for the kitchen, his relief at being able to do something painfully obvious.

John leaned his head back against the cushions and closed his eyes. His head, shoulder, and leg throbbed incessantly, leading him to realize it was almost time for another round of pain meds. He wanted so badly to lie down with his drugs and let the pain fade away for a while, but he needed to face his father first.

"John?"

The voice was so soft, it took a moment for him to react to it. He opened his eyes and looked into the worried face of his father. For a moment, he was six and had just fallen out of the tree in their back yard. Blinking a few times, he noticed the Coke in his dad's hand.

"Oh, thanks." He reached out and took the cold can. It had already been opened, so he took a few swigs, relishing the cold burn of the carbonated drink sliding down his throat. He set the can down on the coaster sitting on the side table and looked at his dad, who had taken a seat in the middle easy chair. That left them close enough to have a comfortable conversation, while leaving enough distance for each to have a safety zone around them.

"Dad, I wanted to explain, to tell you why I did what I did. I know I've sometimes done some crazy things on a whim, but this was different. I wasn't trying to be a hot shot. I had a reason for going after Holland." John had practiced his speech about a million times over the years. He was ready to make his defense. He was shocked that he didn't get the chance.

"I know why you did what you did." Joe Sheppard bowed his head and shook it a couple of times before getting up to pace back and forth. "I should have known the minute I read that report, but I was too busy being a bull-headed fool. It took a friend pointing it out to me a year ago for me to finally see what was in front of me the whole time." He stopped and stood before John, looking down at his son. "You were doing what I taught you since you were old enough to walk. You weren't leaving anyone behind. And if I'd had any sense, I'd have been proud of you instead of tearing you a new one."

John's heart was beating so fast he wondered if it might explode. His dad really did understand. After all these years, he understood. He felt the moisture beginning to build in his eyes again and he rubbed his face in order to get rid of it. The exhaustion and the flood of emotions were making him dizzy. When he opened his eyes, his father was sitting beside him.

"John . . . I'm sorry for the years of pain I've caused you. And I know that started long before the incident in Afghanistan. I just hope you can forgive me and we can start all over, maybe make a new relationship. I'm pretty sure I've ruined the old one."

John shook his head, an act he quickly decided wasn't one he planned on repeating. "No, dad, it isn't all your fault. I spent some time pushing your buttons and making it worse, I know that now. But there's still a lot of good years in there that I don't want to leave behind. We just need to work on making it right again."

Joe's face relaxed and John realized that his dad had been as terrified of this moment as he had. The tension began to fade away and his stomach began to unclench from its tight knot. He was suddenly very glad he had decided to risk coming. He found himself surprised at how good it felt to have a father again.

Joe stood up and looked toward the kitchen. "Are you hungry? What is it, almost three?"

"No, I ate on the plane, sort of."

Joe made a face. "I doubt that was very good. I'll take us out to dinner tonight as a celebration. How does steak and the biggest baked potato in town sound?"

John grinned. "Now you're talking my language."

Joe studied his son a few moments. "You look tired. Do you want to lie down a while before we go?"

"Yeah, that's probably a good idea. Doc says I'm coming along pretty good, but I still get tired too easily." He didn't tell his father that he was hurting so bad it was almost bringing tears to his eyes, but he suspected his father knew when he appeared at John's side, helping him out of the chair. Leaning heavily on his father as a wave of dizziness passed, he mentally chastised himself for being so weak.

"It takes a while, John. Be patient."

John looked at his father as his head cleared. "I see you still read minds."

Joe grinned. "That's right, so don't be trying to hide anything. Let's get you to bed."

oOo

Joe Sheppard sat down in his chair, staring blankly across the room. He was still trembling slightly at the rush of seeing John. Part of him had been convinced that John was dead, killed in some special ops suicide mission. He'd tried every contact he'd ever had over the past year, trying to find out where his son was. The most information he ever got was, "It's classified". He'd spent a lot of sleepless nights, mourning his son and the fact that his last words to him had been harsh and foolish.

But now he was sleeping in his old room. Joe had helped him to the bed and gotten him a glass of water so he could take his pills. The boy hadn't said anything, but he could tell he was hurting pretty badly. He hoped in time John would tell him what had happened to him. John had a new scar, still red and angry, across the right side of his forehead and arching down to his temple where stitches had recently been removed. His shoulder and ribs were obviously giving him trouble and he was limping from a leg injury. There was no record for where he had been for almost three years. The boy had to be involved in something big.

Big and dangerous, from the looks of it. John had always managed to find trouble. When he thought about it, it was usually due to one of two things. He always looked out for his friends and the underdog, taking up for people even when odds were against him. And he had sense of adventure that led him to try almost anything. Joe smiled to himself when he remembered his wife once telling him the people at the hospital were going to think they were abusing John because of the number of trips to the emergency room they had made. She hadn't been amused when he'd pointed out that they would probably get transferred soon and then they could start all over again.

He found himself going back to John's room and peeking in the door, making sure his son was really there. John mumbled something in his sleep, moaning softly as he shifted. Joe decided he looked cold, so he crept over to the closet and pulled out a blanket as quietly as he could. Unfolding it, he carefully draped it over his son, who shifted restlessly, his brow furrowed, even in sleep. John mumbled a few words that sounded disturbingly like a plea to stop, and then went quiet. As Joe slipped out of the room, he couldn't help but worry about what his son had gotten himself into now.

oOo

John came awake with a start, his breaths coming quickly and his hairline damp with sweat. Easing back against the pillow, he took a few minutes to calm his pounding heart and slow his breathing down. He looked up as the cracked door opened a bit more and his father's head appeared.

"John, you okay son?" the worry in his dad's face and voice plainly evident.

"Yeah, I'm good. Just getting up."

His father nodded, but he was studying him in a way that suggested he didn't quite believe him. "Need any help?"

"Nah, I can handle it. What time is it?"

Joe looked at his watch a moment. "Uh, almost six fifteen."

John sighed. He hadn't meant to sleep that long. "Okay, let me wash my face and change clothes and we can go."

"What you have on is fine . . . unless you want to change."

John realized his father wanted him to wear the uniform. He was proud of him and wanted to show him off, something John had never thought would happen in a million years. He grinned, feeling like his pounding heart had expanded to take up his whole chest. "No, this is fine. I'll be out in a few minutes."

Joe broke out into a big grin. "Let me know if you need anything."

John used his good arm to push himself up into a sitting position to prove to them both he could take care of himself. "Okay." He watched his father pull the door closed except for a small crack and head back down the hall. Grunting at the pain the movement caused, he managed to twist around and get off the bed. He smiled as he hobbled toward the bathroom, stretching out his stiff muscles. His father was actually proud of him.

As John washed his face and got cleaned up, he wished he could tell his father what he'd been doing the last three years. He wanted to share meeting Teyla and Ronon, discovering a whole new galaxy, flying puddle jumpers, and his weird connection to Atlantis. He wondered if his dad had the ATA gene or if he'd gotten it from his mother. Or maybe both. It saddened him to realize he could never know the answer. He dried his face and left the bathroom. Reaching out to pick up his cell phone from the bedside table, he stared at it for several seconds. A smile slowly broke out over his face.

He quickly dialed the phone and waited. Several seconds later, he was connected to General Landry at the SGC. "General Landry, sir, this is Colonel Sheppard." He paused to listen. "Yes, sir, I made it fine. Sir, I have a very special request to make."

TBC

_Sorry I haven't been around much lately – just really busy. I hope to post every other day (hope being the operative word here)._


	2. Chapter 2

**Note: **Okay, I'm pretty sure my heart has stopped and I need CPR at this point. You guys are amazing. I just wanted to say THANK YOU for all the wonderful reviews. Man, I really missed you guys!! I think I broke some cardinal rule of writing by doing all this "telling" instead of "showing" the first part of the chapter, but it was easier, so I did it anyway. Forgiveness, please.

**Going Home - Chapter 2**

John had fond memories of his family life up until he was twelve. He had been very close to his mother since his father was gone for large periods of time, deployed to other countries for tours of a year or more. And his mom was a hugger, while his dad was more aloof. She used to tell him that Joe's father and grandfather had both been career military and his family dealt more formally with one another, using very little physical contact. He would laugh when she told him she'd turn his father into a big teddy bear by the time he had children of his own.

It wasn't that John's father didn't care or didn't show it. He just had to struggle with _how _to show it. But he would look at his mom in a way that made John certain of how much he loved her. And often, he would look at John with much the same expression. John was fiercely proud of what his father did and for a long time, wanted to be just like him. Most of the time, John was pretty sure his life was perfect..

When John was twelve, his mother died of leukemia. He had always believed a part of him and his father died with her. Used to his mother's hugs and long talks, he reached out to his father for comfort, but Joe didn't know how to give it. His dad had tried for a while, but just couldn't figure out how to cope. Hurting himself, he turned inward, shunning his son and the painful reminders of what he'd lost.

Joe Sheppard took frequent assignments that took him away from his son after that, running from his own grief as well as his grieving son. He shut everyone out. He was viewed as an excellent commander who knew his men. He could name each one of them along with their training, skills, strengths, and weaknesses. What he couldn't tell you was anything about their personal life, their likes or dislikes or their family. He didn't want to know that side of his men because then he might develop feelings or empathy for them, feelings he'd have to face if they got themselves killed.

When John was in ninth grade, he was thrilled when his father went overseas again. He was a constant disappointment to the man, nothing ever good enough for the Colonel. John had moved around so much that he craved friends, anyone who he could connect to. It came in the form of two senior baseball players. John was the starting pitcher for the high school baseball team, a strange and unusual occurrence for a freshman. His good looks and carefree charm attracted girls like a magnet. Mark and Gage figured that out early and decided to use that to their advantage. So they befriended the desperate boy and he was too thrilled to realize how he was being used.

John went with them one night after a ballgame, amazed when three junior girls accompanied them. A friend of Gage's got them a case of beer, which they immediately tore into. John ignored the inner voice telling him this was wrong because he wanted so desperately to be accepted. At midnight, they made the stupid decision to go jump some hills on a local gravel road. So with Mark, Gage, and Melissa in the front seat, John sat in back with Stephanie and Danielle. He thought maybe he'd died and gone to heaven, until Mark lost control of the car and crashed into a tree going way faster than anyone should ever go on a gravel road.

John woke up five days later with his father sitting in a chair beside his hospital bed staring at him. He knew it must have been bad for his father to come back home. The three teens in the front seat had all been killed. Stephanie's head injury was so bad they thought she would always be a vegetable. Danielle was the least injured, with a broken leg and a broken arm. John had broken both legs and five ribs, along with puncturing a lung. His father told him everything with a detached, cold voice that made him wonder if the man cared about anything. John lashed out by saying he wished he'd died in the accident so his dad wouldn't have to put up with him any more. When his father left the room without saying anything to dispute the wish, John had cried himself back to sleep.

After that, his dad took a permanent job teaching and training personnel at the Air Force base near where he now lived. They moved as soon as John got out of the hospital and John did something new. He went to the same school three years in a row. He probably would have enjoyed it more if he'd been able to look his father in the eye. His dad took the job to keep John out of trouble, believing discipline and hard work would keep John on the straight and narrow. John mostly stayed out of trouble, but the two grew even farther apart, with John counting the days until he graduated and could get away from his father.

When he was a kid, John had wanted to join the Air Force because that's what his father did and he wanted to be just like his dad. His father took him up in a variety of aircraft and John immediately fell in love with flying. So even though he was at odds with his father, he still joined the Air Force when it was time to pick a career. Part of him still admired the man his father used to be.

Now, as he rode in the car with his father driving, John looked over the town he hadn't seen in years, noting the changes as well as the things that were still the same. Emotions and memories he hadn't tapped into in years swirled around, leaving him a little disoriented. "Where are we going?"

"The West Coast Saloon and Steak House. Do you remember Carl's Diner?"

John thought a second and then nodded. "Yeah, I think so. Is that where we used to eat that first year we were here on the way to my physical therapy sessions?"

"Yep, that's the place. Well, let's just say Carl has upgraded and remodeled. It's now one of the best places in town and one of the busiest too."

John smiled. "Go Carl. They used to have the best apple pie."

"They still do. His mom makes it."

John snorted and looked at his dad. "How old is she? I thought she was ninety back then."

"That's probably right. I think she's immortal," said Joe, grinning. He drove a few blocks and then glanced over at John. "You're awfully quiet."

"Just thinking," said John. Actually, he wasn't sure how much thinking was going on. It was more like a bombardment of thoughts, memories, and emotions creating a whirling mass of chaos in his head.

"John . . . I just . . . I wanted to say… I _need _to say… I truly am so sorry for everything."

John frowned at his dad. "You already said that. Dad, it's okay."

"No, it's not," the elder Sheppard said sharply. "There's not much I did back then that was okay. I abandoned you when you needed me and you were just a kid. I physically went off and left you and I emotionally shut you out even before that. I have no excuse. I was hurting and I selfishly shut everyone out to keep from hurting ever again. I left you behind when you needed me most." He laughed bitterly. "I went against my own principals in order to protect myself and I can't undo what's already done. God knows if I could take even one day of it back I would. I was so sure I'd lost you…"

John looked out the side window, his heart pounding as he remembered how heart broken he'd been when his father announced he was leaving for a year barely a month after his mother's death. He'd been so upset, he got physically sick. He could distinctly hear his father's stern voice telling him to suck it up as he puked in the toilet. He closed his eyes and leaned his face against the cool window.

"It's okay, Dad. It's all in the past. I . . . I did some things I'm not proud of. I . . . I don't think I ever told you how sorry I was for . . . the wreck. I was stupid. I knew better, but I went with them anyway."

They were silent for a few moments. John couldn't make himself look at his dad. Finally, his dad responded, his voice quivering slightly. "That's another thing I'm sorry for. I was so mad at you for scaring me like that . . . I always regretted not answering you when you . . . said you wished you . . . had died. You caught me off guard and . . . my mind just shut down. I couldn't imagine you wishing something like that. I panicked . . . I ran. I'm sorry John."

John didn't say anything, just closed his eyes and let the words sink in. All these years he thought his dad had wished John died too and that was why he didn't answer. To find out the opposite was the case . . . John was realizing he'd made his fair share of mistakes too. "I thought . . . " The words caught in his throat.

"I know. I didn't realize that's what you thought at the time or I probably would have assured you otherwise. I never stopped to think about how it looked for me to just run out like that. I'm sorry, John. I've wished so many times we still had your mother. She knew what to say and how to read people."

"Yeah, she did," John said softly, a small smile making his lips curve up. "She would have kept us talking. She never would have let us get that far apart. Look, Dad, we both said and did some things to hurt the other. Sometimes it was accidental and sometimes we knew exactly what we were doing. Let's just agree that we're both sorry for all of that mess and put it behind us."

Joe nodded. "I agree. I'm just glad . . . "

John looked at his father, gripping the wheel tightly and chewing his lower lip. "What?"

Joe took a deep breath. "I guess I should tell you what started all this thinking on my part. I was diagnosed with cancer sixteen months ago."

John felt like someone had just sucker punched him. "Dad?" he whispered, his heart thumping away in his chest.

"No, John, I'm okay now. They caught it fairly early and we did the surgery thing followed by radiation. So far, I'm cancer free, but they're keeping a close eye on me. Anyway, facing my own mortality got me to thinking about things. But I was still so wrapped up in regulations and discipline that every time I began thinking about you, I came back to the thing in Afghanistan. Somehow I got off on that one day while I was talking to Morgan."

"Is that Major Shetfield?"

Joe paused a moment, caught off guard by the question. "Yes, how did you . . . oh, I remember. He was stationed in New Mexico at the same time we were there. You were, what, ten?"

"Yeah, something like that. He took me on my first chopper ride."

"You remember that?"

John laughed. "Do I remember it? I relived that trip in my dreams for years, waiting on my chance to fly one of those babies."

Joe shook his head. "Well, he's Colonel Shetfield now, retired, like me. I had been trying to find you to tell you I was dying of cancer, because at the time I thought I was. I was mad and scared and frustrated and started ranting about you disgracing yourself in Afghanistan. He asked me what had happened and I told him. He just looked at me like I was crazy and said, "So you're mad at him for not leaving a man behind after you spent all those years preaching to him that not leaving a man behind was the most important code out there? Joe Sheppard, what the hell is wrong with you?"

John couldn't help the smirk that crossed his face. Morgan sounded a lot like Rodney. Everyone needed a Rodney. Okay, that wasn't true. Most people would kill him the first day. But everyone needed that voice of reason that wasn't afraid to kick some sense into you every now and again.

"What's funny" Joe asked.

John let the smile spread across his face. "It just reminds me of the way one of my friends gets in my face when I'm losing it."

The tension that had been building in Joe's face seemed to ease. "Well, listen to him. It might just keep you from making a fool of yourself like your old man. I wish Morgan had been there to point out the obvious before I lost track of you. Better yet, before I said all those … horrible things to you." His voice was sad again and John looked over to his father.

"Dad, don't. We just said we weren't going to dwell on past mistakes. Are you . . . are you sure you're okay? That the cancer is gone?" Now that he had his father back, _really _had his father back, he was terrified of losing him.

Joe grinned and glanced at his son. "I'm sure. Just had a checkup last week and everything was fine." He frowned a bit at his son. "What about you? I've kept my mouth shut so far so we could get some other stuff out of the way, but it looks like you've had a rough time. Can you tell me about it… do you want to?"

John sighed and looked out the windshield as they crept through the traffic. That was one thing he didn't miss when he was in Atlantis. The traffic. "I'm okay, healing, you know. I kind of got caught while laying down cover fire so my team could get some civilians safely back to base. It was nearly two weeks before they were able to get me out and the guys that had me wanted access codes to our base." A slow grin spread across his face. "But I gave Jamayan something to remember me by before I left."

"Jamayan? That's an unusual name."

"He was the commander of the . . . enemy forces. Eight days after they captured me, one of their men got careless and I grabbed his knife. I got Jamayan across the face before they took me down." He didn't tell his father about the three guards he killed with that knife. Or that they shot him in the leg and tore his shoulder up so badly that he'd already had surgery twice and was probably looking at another one.

"How . . . how badly were you injured?" His father's voice was quiet and John wished they hadn't wandered onto this particular topic.

"It could have been worse." He neglected to mention that on other occasions, it had been. "Few broken ribs, dislocated shoulder, some bruises. I'm healing."

"And the leg? You've been limping."

John grimaced. "Uh, they shot me in the thigh. Muscles are still healing and I'm still a little sore, but it's coming."

"And head? I see you've had stitches recently."

John sighed and looked around at his father, but he smiled inside even as he complained. "You're relentless, you know that? They smacked me in the head a few times. Rodney says it's a good thing I'm hard headed or I might have had brain damage." He grinned as he remembered the scientist babbling a mile a minute from the bed next to him when John had barely regained consciousness.

"Rodney, is that the friend you mentioned earlier?"

"Yeah, Rodney McKay. He's on my team. He was injured during the rescue. Got his right arm broken in two places trying to keep one of the guards from beating me to death with a metal bar. Rodney's a . . . good friend." He smiled as he thought of how close he and Rodney had become and how neither of them ever talked about it.

"I guess that means you've taught them well . . . about not leaving a man behind."

John let out a slow breath, emotions he always held carefully in check swelling up inside him. "I have preached it a few times. And I have a good team. They've been . . . like family. There isn't anything I wouldn't do for any one of them." He smiled as he pictured them in his mind, saying good bye as he and Rodney left for Earth and their forced vacation from Atlantis.

His dad smiled as he pulled into a parking lot brimming with cars. "I'm glad you had someone you could trust, someone to watch your back."

John gave a small nod. "I did, rather I do. Hey, let's eat. I'm starved and it's been forever since I had a really good steak."

Joe turned the car off, but didn't move to get out of the car. Looking around the lot, he turned to John. "Maybe we should do this another night. I didn't think about how crowded this place gets."

John shook his head. "Not on your life. We drove almost half an hour to get here and I've been thinking about steak and apple pie all that time."

John looked at the worry in his father's face. "John, it's probably going to be a thirty to forty-five minute wait just for a table."

John sighed and resisted the urge to rub his aching shoulder. "Dad, I can wait. Look, I had a long nap, so I'm ready to go. Please . . . let's do this." He really didn't want them cancelling out because of his weakness. He'd spent over two weeks lying around and he needed to get up and get moving, even if it was slowly. He relaxed a bit when his father rolled his eyes and smiled as he shook his head.

"Fine, we'll go. But you tell me if you get too tired or you start hurting and we'll leave."

"You got it," John said as he opened the door and got out. He was proud to be able to get out on his own by hanging onto the door with his good arm. It helped that the car sat far enough off the ground that he didn't feel like he was crawling out. He had to balance himself by leaning his good hand on the car until he'd taken a few steps and had his walking legs underneath him again, but then he was fine. He purposely ignored the way his dad was watching him, as if he expected him to topple over.

The restaurant was packed and his father looked at him hesitantly when they entered. The benches near the hostess stand were full of people waiting on a table and another four or five stood near the wall. John stepped up the stand and nodded to the woman behind it. "Two, please."

The hostess had shoulder length blonde hair and looked like she was barely out of high school, but she smiled as her gray eyes met his. "Smoking or non-smoking?"

"How about first available," John said.

The woman nodded and looked at her chart. "It's going to be about a forty minute wait. Is that okay?" She looked back up at him, her face uncertain as her eyes went from the fresh scar on his forehead to his arm in the sling. He hated the sympathy thing.

"Yes, that's fine," he replied as brightly as he could.

"Okay," she said as she made a note and handed him a plastic rectangle. "Come back when this goes off."

John thanked her and turned around to see his dad had secured them a place leaning against the wall near the door. He limped over and his dad took the beeper from him.

"I'll keep up with this."

John relinquished it gladly. He had been surprised when the thing didn't light up as he touched it. Laughing softly, he decided maybe he had been in Atlantis too long.

"What?" his dad asked.

John shook his head. "Nothing, just thinking."

Joe sighed. "I wish you could tell me where you've been or what you've been doing. I've missed so much of your life." He suddenly looked at John. "I never asked. How long can you stay?"

John shrugged his one good shoulder. "I was told to take seven to ten days. Stay away at least seven, but back in ten." He noticed his dad looking at him oddly. "I haven't been back to . . . the States for a while and so this time away was . . . let's just say it was more than a suggestion."

His dad nodded in understanding. "Let me guess, you're on duty pretty much twenty-four, seven and your CO decided to enforce some down time before you burned out."

John smiled sheepishly. "Actually . . . I am the top military person where I'm stationed. But it's a mix of civilian and military and I have a civilian boss, unless the military ship is dropping off supplies, and then the ship's commander outranks me."

John watched his father's eyes grow and almost pop out of his head. "You . . . you have a command position?" There was no way to miss the pride in his voice and John felt another of those awkward surges of emotion.

"Yes, sir, I do. There is so much to tell you . . . I don't even know where to start."

Joe grinned and planted a firm hand on John's good arm. "Son, I'm so proud of you. I'm so glad you'll be here for a while. I can't wait to hear more."

A man about two inches shorter than John, dressed in khakis and a red polo shirt, walked up to John. He had noticed the man sitting on one of the benches beside a woman, but he hadn't paid much attention to them because he didn't know them. The man had brown hair with a receding hairline and a beard and mustache. John thought at first the man was headed for the door until he stopped right in front of him.

"I don't approve of the war in Iraq. It's just another way to bleed more tax money off those of us that work for a living."

John frowned at the man and looked around to make sure the man was addressing him. "Okay," he drawled. "Why are you telling me?"

The man crossed his arms defiantly and John saw the people in his peripheral vision beginning to watch. It had suddenly quieted in their area as people listened to see what was going on.

"I'm telling you because you're in a uniform. You are part of the drain on our society. How'd you get hurt, playing with your weapons?"

John sighed and reached over to lightly rub his healing broken ribs under his sling with his right hand. Looks like being an idiot was an equal galaxy personality hazard. "First of all, I don't make those decisions. I'm just a pilot, I follow orders. Second, I wasn't in Iraq. I was in a place you've never heard of fighting a threat that's worse than anything in your worst nightmare. You need to be talking to someone with a lot more clout than me if you want something done."

The man stepped forward and leaned up to get closer to his face. His voice raised in both volume and pitch, but John didn't hear anything the man said.

_Suddenly Jamayan was in his face, his foul breath making John want to choke. John was shirtless and tied to the chair again, blood running from his mouth and nose. _

"_Tell me how we can get into Atlantis?" the bearded man demanded. "We know that is where you are from." _

"_I told you, Atlantis was destroyed."_

"_I do not believe you," said Jamayan, nodding to a man crouched beside a crude fireplace. The guard pulled a rod almost an inch in diameter from the embers and stood behind John. Jamayan nodded and John felt the burning end of the stick shoved against his spine in his lower back, and he bit through his lip as he fought not to cry out._

"John? Son, are you all right?"

John blinked his eyes and his father came into focus. He was now sitting on the end of the bench, his father's hand on his arm keeping him steady.

"Dad?" he said weakly, not sure of what had just happened. Looking past his father, he saw the rest of the room staring at him and he felt the heat rush up his neck and spread across his face. _Nothing like having a flashback in the middle of a packed restaurant_.

Joe sagged with relief. "John, son, you scared me. Come on, I'll take you home."

Quiet whispers began like the buzz of small insects still far away. The looks of pity angered him and his stubbornness pushed past his embarrassment. "No. We came here to eat and I want to eat. Look, I'm sorry I kind of zoned out on you, but I'm okay now. I want to stay. Please Dad . . . I want to stay."

When John's father opened his mouth, he was certain the answer was going to be no. But then he paused and looked at John for several seconds. A small, uncertain smile developed across his father's face. "Sometimes you remind me so much of your mother." He sighed and let his head fall forward. "Okay, we'll stay. I hope I don't regret this."

"You won't. I'm okay now, I just . . . that guy kind of reminded me of Jamayan and I . . . was back there for a second. I'm sorry I freaked everyone out."

Joe stood, keeping his hand on his son's good shoulder. "That's okay, son. You just sit there and relax. I don't care what anyone else thinks, I just want to make sure you're okay."

They both tensed slightly as a couple approached them. The woman held out her pager, which was buzzing as a red light in the middle flashed. "We want you to take our place in line," she said with a smile.

The man with her held out his hand. "I'm Bob Stewart and this is my wife Linda," he said as he shook hands with Joe and then John. John tried to stand, but his father kept him down with the hand still resting on his son's shoulder. John was very dejected that it didn't seem to take much effort to do that.

"I'm Joe Sheppard and this is my son, Lt. Colonel John Sheppard."

"Unlike that other . . . man, we happen to have a great respect for the men and women that serve this country. We couldn't help but notice that you were injured and . . . well, we'd just like to do this small gesture to show our appreciation for your sacrifice."

John was flabbergasted and couldn't seem to find his voice. He wanted to turn them down, feeling like he didn't have the right to step in front of them in spite of their offer. He was almost annoyed when his dad stepped in.

"Thank you very much, that's very kind of you," said Joe, trading beepers with the couple. "My son has only just gotten back today and he's still got a long way to go in his recovery. He's doing well, but he tires easily."

"Dad," John finally managed to get out, cringing at how childish and whiney it sounded.

The woman smiled, kneeling in front of him. "Please, I want to do this. _We_ want to do this. And I'll be terribly offended if you don't let us."

John didn't know what to say. She seemed genuine and he didn't really want to offend anyone else tonight. He finally nodded, more than a little overcome by the gesture. His father took him by the arm and helped him stand, causing the room to spin for a second. By the time it settled, the worried expression was back on his father's face again, so John forced a grin.

"Well, are we eating or not?"

Joe seemed to relax a little and nodded. "Yes, we're going to eat. Thank you again for the table," he said to the couple as they handed off the beeper and followed the hostess to their table.

John tried to keep his eyes on the path ahead and ignore the feeling that everyone in the place was looking at him. When they were finally seated, he chanced a glance around the room. He relaxed when it seemed like people were talking and eating as usual. He looked across the table at his father.

"So, what happened to the guy with the beef against the military?" asked John.

John's father opened the menu and talked as he looked at it. "I told him that you were captured and tortured because you were helping get civilians to safety and if he didn't think that was providing a valuable service to the country, then he could take it up with me outside in the parking lot. Then three of the gentlemen waiting on a table asked him very nicely to leave the premises before they were forced to remove him. He chose to leave."

John smiled and shook his head. "Cool. I kind of wish I'd been lucid enough to see that." He looked at his father for a minute. "What would you have done if he'd gone with you out to the parking lot?"

Joe's eyes flickered up to meet John's over the top of the menu. "I'd have kicked his ass. No one talks to my son that way while I'm around. I may be retired, but I can still handle myself against some pantywaist crybaby."

John laughed out loud. This was the way he remembered his father. This was the man he had worshipped as a child. He was going to have to find a way to thank Elizabeth for making him come home. He wondered if he kissed her if she'd deck him.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Note: **The CPR isn't doing any good – I think I need a defibrillator. This is completely amazing. THANK YOU!! I really hope you continue to enjoy the story.

**Going Home - Chapter 3**

John limped into the living room and slowly lowered himself onto the end of the couch. "Oh, my gosh," he groaned. "Why did you let me eat that pie?"

Joe closed and locked the door, chuckling at his son. "I told you your eyes were bigger than your stomach. Obviously some things are still the same."

"I haven't eaten that much in one sitting . . . well, ever. Rodney and Ronon are usually picking stuff off my tray or stealing my dessert. At least Carson would be proud."

"Want some coffee?"

John frowned as he considered the question. "Yes, sir, I would... real coffee… not entirely sure where I'll _put_ it, but it _sounds_ good."

Joe disappeared into the kitchen for a few moments, returning to sit in the middle chair of the couch. "So, who's Carson?"

"Carson Beckett, he's our Chief Medical Officer. He's saved a lot of lives, mine included once or twice." His father sucked his breath in sharply as John continued. "But he's worse than an old mother hen sometimes. He rags on me about my weight being too low all the time. I lost a heap of weight during the two weeks I was gone. Once I got back, I had an infection on the loose, which didn't help my appetite. Now I've been on the strong antibiotics for a while and it's got my whole digestive system screwed up. Carson keeps threatening to put in a feeding tube if I don't start putting some weight back on." He leaned back and patted his stomach. "A few more meals like that and he'll be singing my praises."

Joe smiled, but the look of worry didn't leave his face as he studied his son. He had thought John felt thin, but it was hard to tell through the uniform, especially the jacket. "Do you want to change clothes before the coffee is done?"

John glanced toward the hall, hesitating a moment and then sighing. "I guess I might as well get it over with. I would like to be out of this monkey suit." He winced and then glanced at his father. "Sorry, sir."

Joe chuckled. "It's okay, I understand. They are uncomfortable. I could help you if you'd like, but only if you quit calling me _sir_. I'm your father, not your CO."

John took a deep breath, ready to refuse but stopped when he caught his father's eye. He so didn't want to ask for help but the words wouldn't come. This was the top person in two galaxies that he didn't want to appear weak in front of.

For all their years apart Joe Sheppard's ability to read his son like a book hadn't diminished one iota. He knew that even though John's injured shoulder and ribs would be making it next to impossible to change clothes without a lot of pain, there was still that age old internal struggle bubbling away under the surface. He smiled and bit his lip; John had always been such an independent child.. "I could remind you of changing diapers and giving baths and -"

"No, no, stop." John's face was scrunched up in an expression of disgust. "Alright, yes, you can help, but you have to quit talking about diapers and such. Geesh!" He shook his head to rid himself of the imagery daring to enter his mind.

Joe grinned, amazed at how much of that he did remember and of how precious those memories suddenly seemed. He got up and followed John to his room. Picking up the suitcase, he set it on the bed so John could get to it easier and then stepped out of the way. Now that John was there in the flesh, he couldn't get enough of watching him, of marveling at how he'd grown, at the man he'd become, and how on God's earth had he let his son get so far away from him.

John used his right hand to unzip and open the suitcase. He shifted the clothes around until he had the ones he wanted. His hand paused over a pocket of the case, but he just touched it lightly and picked up his sweat pants and a t-shirt to lay them on the bed. Then he turned to his dad.

"I need you to help me get the sling off. Doctor Lam has me bound up like a Christmas turkey."

Joe went about getting the sling loose and off. "Now who's Dr. Lam?"

"She's the doctor I saw when I got back from . . uh, in the States. She had to give me a final clearance before they would let me fly out here." With the sling off, John began to try to slide his right arm out of the jacket. Joe took it by the edge and slipped it off his shoulder and then brought it around to slide it off his left arm. John grimaced at the slight movement, but said nothing.

John pulled his tie loose and then set about unbuttoning his shirt. Joe finished removing the tie and then helped with the buttons. Once again, he removed the garment from John's good arm first, then slid it off his injured one. When Joe turned back around, he was totally unprepared for what he saw and he couldn't help but gasp.

John's shoulder was wrapped up with white gauze bandages and an ace bandage on top of that. His ribs protruded almost grotesquely through skin mottled with bruises that had turned a myriad of colors as they healed. Large round welts about an inch in diameter, faded and partially healed, were scattered across the front and back of his torso. "Are those . . . burns?"

John's face flushed bright red as he grabbed the shirt off his bed and began trying to get his bad arm in the sleeve. He hissed when he pulled on it in his haste. "Don't worry about it dad, stuff happens, you know?"

Joe grabbed his arm and stilled it, waiting until John brought his face up to meet his gaze. "John, it's okay. I'm your father." At that moment, Joe saw fatigue in his son's eyes he hadn't seen very often. It was the look of mental and physical exhaustion he saw in men just before they flew their plane into the ground or had to be sent home because they just couldn't do it any more. Fine muscle tremors coursed beneath his grip. He pulled John in to his chest, wrapping his arms carefully around his son, afraid he might break him if he held too tight.

He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or scared when John almost collapsed against him. He maneuvered them both to sit on the bed, still cradling John's head against his chest, holding his son while he shook. The sharp feel of protruding bones in John's shoulder and back, along with the ribs he could count if he wanted made him want to cry. Who had done this? Who had reduced his son to this fragile boy in his arms? He thought of John being tortured for two weeks while waiting on help to come, doing his best not to give away his friends and the base he was responsible for protecting. He found himself stroking the top of John's head, like he had when he was a child and wondering what he could have done to spare his son this torment.

It was several minutes before John pulled away from him, turning his face to the wall in shame. Joe was having none of it. "John, look at me." John wiped his face, but made no move to turn around. Joe reached out and placed one hand under his son's chin, pulling his face around. "John, I said look at me," he repeated softly.

John brought his eyes up and turned the rest of the way around to face his father. His face was still slightly damp where he'd hurriedly wiped the tears away. "I know, Dad. Soldiers don't cry," he said, his breath hitching.

Joe smiled and shook his head. "No, not exactly. Soldiers don't cry on the battlefield because there isn't time. But they cry plenty when they get back home. Sometimes it's the only thing that keeps us sane." He paused for a moment. "It was bad?" he whispered softly.

John looked dazed as he stared at his father. "At times," he said quietly, letting his hand go up to his chest. "Not as bad as before though," he whispered as he rubbed a spot just below his neck.

Joe could feel his heart racing with fear for his son; so there had been worse? …than this?...could there _be_ worse than this? He knew he shouldn't ask, but he still had to offer, reinforce he would be there for him no matter how much his hair stood on end with the telling. "John, anything you want to talk about, I'm here. If you don't want to talk, I'm here anyway. Just . . . lean on me when you need to. That's what I'm supposed to be here for." He smiled as he put one hand on the back of John's neck and pulled him forward a little. "It's kind of my job, kid."

John smiled and leaned his forehead against his father's shoulder. "Thanks, Dad. I'm not sure I can do that… yet. I think I just need some time to deal. I'm just so . . . tired."

Joe rubbed his son's back, careful to avoid the healing burns and the bruises. "I just want you to let me help when I can."

John sat back up and picked up his shirt. "Well, right now you can help me with this shirt because I'm getting cold." Chill bumps across his arms and back supported his claim.

Joe took the shirt from his son. "Just let me do all the work. I have experience with this kind of thing."

"Thanks, Dad."

As soon as they had John's shirt on, he shooed his father out of his room, insisting he could handle the pants himself. When he entered the living room a few minutes later, Joe was just bringing in two mugs of coffee. "I forgot to ask you how you take it."

"Black or sometimes I add a little milk, if we've got it… just no sugar."

Joe set the cup on the side table as John eased himself into the chair. He favored his shoulder and leg in a way that let Joe know he was hurting, more than likely brought on by all the movement of changing clothes. "I added a little cream, but not much." He saw the look of relief that crossed John's face when he got situated and could relax back into the cushions.

"Thanks, smells good. One thing I'll never get used to doing without…"

A song Joe didn't recognize began from down the hall. John looked stricken. "Crap, I forgot my phone in the bedroom."

Joe set his cup down and rushed for the hall. "I'll get it." When he grabbed the cell phone from the bedside table, he knew it didn't have much longer before it shut off so he popped it open. "Joe Sheppard," he said as he walked back to the living room.

"_Ah… would that be Colonel Joe Sheppard?_ _General Jack O'Neill here. I'm trying to reach a Lt. Colonel John Sheppard. You're his father, right?"_

Joe automatically stood at attention. "Yes, sir, I am, on both counts."

"_You should be proud of your boy. He's been doing a heck of a job under some pretty dangerous and bizarre conditions. I can honestly say he's saved the Earth on more than one occasion, and take it from me, I know what I'm talking about. He can tell you more in a bit. Is he there?"_

Joe's head was spinning; his boy had saved the Earth? He recovered enough to answer his superior (he may be retired, but a general was still a general). "Thank you, sir. Yes, he's right here." Joe handed the phone to John, his eyes wide.

"General O'Neill, sir, thank you for responding so quickly."

"_Hank passed on your request and I've taken the liberty of looking into your father's record as well as asking around. I was a little surprised to find out your father was such a stickler for the rules."_

John chuckled. "Yes, sir, we've had some . . . problems with that in the past, but I think we've worked them out now. We've kind of been getting to know each other again . . . and I'd really like the chance to share what I've been doing with him, sir."

"_Well, I wouldn't normally do this, but he looks good on paper and there's some pretty heavy brass willing to vouch for him. Besides, I figure we owe you one or two, kid. So, you now have official clearance to explain things to him, but be sure he knows that he's not to pass it on to anyone else, no matter how tempting it is. We'll be watching."_

"You will?"

"_No, but he doesn't know that. Besides, if he told anyone, they'd just think he was some crazy old coot suffering from PTSD."_

John smiled and shook his head. He forgot about O'Neill's sense of humor sometimes. "I'll tell him, sir, and General, thank you. This . . . it's really important to me."

"_I know. Good luck, Sheppard."_

John shut the phone and set it on the table, looking up at his father with a big grin. "Dad, you better sit down. I just got clearance to tell you where I've been and what I've been doing the last three years. It's . . . very complicated and pretty unbelievable so best you get comfortable.

Joe grabbed his coffee and sat down on the couch beside his son. Not for the first time that day his heart was racing as if he was about to embark on an important mission. Thinking about it, he realized in a way, he was.

oOo

John limped slowly into the kitchen to the smell of coffee and frying bacon. Grinning, he inhaled deeply. "Smells good, Dad." He glanced down at the pictures of Atlantis and his friends he'd shown his father the night before. They were lying on the envelope he'd brought them in, but the one on top was one of the few he'd never removed. Rodney had taken one of him in the infirmary shortly after his rescue. His face was black and blue, his eyes swollen almost shut. There were bandages around his shoulder and midsection, but the burns stood out red and angry against his pale skin. He'd been hooked up to all kinds of monitors, an IV, and oxygen and he looked terrible. His stomach clenched when he realized his father had seen it.

"Dad?"

His father looked up from his pan and noted what his son was looking at. "I went to put them back in the envelope and discovered you had forgotten to show me a few." His voice was tight with worry, making John sigh. He shuffled the picture over to see the one underneath, another infirmary shot taken a few days later that didn't look quite so bad.

"Rodney said he took those to show me how bad I looked so I could appreciate how much I worried them. He seems to think I get into these messes on purpose. I . . . I didn't want you to see those. I thought I took them out before I left Atlantis."

"I'm glad you didn't. I needed to see… what you went through... I needed to."

John frowned as he stacked the pictures up and slid them in the envelope. "I'm sorry for the melt down last night. I . . . thought I was handling everything okay until then. I think I was just tired."

"For goodness sake it's all right! You wouldn't be human if you didn't react to what you've been through. My God, son, the things you've seen and done, the horrors you've lived through. A lot of men couldn't have made it this far. You've earned a little melt down every now and again." He put down the spatula he'd been turning the bacon with and came over to stand beside John, his intense green eyes filled with concern. Squeezing his shoulder lightly his voice broke a little as continued. "John, I know I haven't earned the right, but I want to be a part of your life, and that includes the bad as well as the good… if you'll let me."

John looked up at his father and smiled. "I'd like that, more than anything."

Joe nodded and then broke out into a grin. "Good. Now grab some coffee and have a seat. You're eggs will be done in a minute."

By the time John got his coffee and sat down, Joe delivered two plates of bacon, eggs, and toast and took the seat across from him. John sniffed the air, enraptured.

"Wow, real eggs and no line. I could get spoiled if I stayed here too long."

"Let me spoil you for a few days. You'll be back in the real world soon enough."

John grunted, his mouth full. "Very funny dad, _real world?_".

Joe poked his eggs with his fork and looked at his son, his brief smile at his play on words fading. "You know, for a moment, when I first woke up, I thought yesterday was a dream. I had to peek into your room and make sure you were still there."

"I know. I heard you."

Joe's eyebrows raised slightly. "You heard me?"

John nodded as he finished chewing and swallowed. "Yeah, I'm afraid you weren't very stealthy coming down the hall, at least not compared to the people I work with. You won't even know Ronon or Teyla are within a hundred feet of you and then you turn around and run into them. I've learned a lot from them both."

"I'd love to meet them some day. Wow, I'm wishing I had a chance to meet aliens. How weird is that?"

John chuckled. "Not weird to me, not any more. Weird to me is riding in a car or waiting in traffic or going to a restaurant. Funny how your perspective changes when you live three years in another galaxy."

Joe shook his head. "I can't quite wrap my head around that yet. So, what do you want to do while you're here?"

John shrugged his good shoulder. "I'd like to see how the town's changed, maybe take a drive out to the beach. Oh, I almost forgot. I have a favor. Dr. Lam made me an appointment with a doctor at the Air Force base for tomorrow. I think they're going to take the stitches out of my shoulder. I had to have surgery for something that got torn loose, or something like that. Anyway, my worrywart doctors thought I needed someone to check on things while I was gone."

"No problem. What time tomorrow?"

"Two, I think. I'll have to check. I'm afraid I wasn't really listening at that point. All the instructions and warnings had just turned into blah, blah, blah by then."

Joe snickered as he mopped up egg yolk with his toast. "And once again for the record, some things never change."

John put on his most innocent expression. "I have _no_ idea what you're talking about."

oOo

"Didn't that used to be drive-in movie?" John asked, pointing to a mall.

"Yep. They tore it down and put up a new mall a few years ago. We have a Barnes and Noble and all kinds of specialty stores that I've never heard of before. There's one where just about everyone going in is dressed in black with black hair and make-up. Strange place."

John laughed at his father's grim expression and studied the semi-familiar surroundings. "Hey, isn't the high school up here?"

Joe frowned and squinted up ahead. "Yes, I think you're right."

John hesitated a moment and then looked at his father. "Do you think we could stop there?" When his father looked at him curiously, he rolled his upper lip in for a moment. "I, uh, just wanted to see if Mr. Wilson still taught there."

Joe turned into the parking lot and found an empty spot. "Was he the math guy?"

John smiled, warmed that his father remembered. Those hadn't been the best years between them and he'd tried to keep his father out of his school life as much as possible. "Yeah, that's him. He was really good and . . . I 'd just kind of like to say hi, if that's okay." He didn't want to tell his father that Mr. Wilson had been his main source of encouragement, taking John under his wing and providing the support John needed to keep up with his studies.

"Fine by me. You just tell me where to go and I'll get us there."

They entered the office a few minutes later. The building looked different than John remembered. He was pretty sure they had added on and changed the offices around.

"Oh my gosh, John Sheppard, is that you?"

John turned from the door to the office to see a chubby, short woman with gray hair and a wide grin approaching. Her eyes flashed as she held out here arms and wrapped them around John.

John grunted as the pressure on his bruised sides increased and his shoulder pulled inward, but he put his good arm around the motherly woman mauling him. When she finally let go, he was able to catch his breath and speak. "Mrs. Weatherford, are you still here taking care of all the wayward kids?"

The woman looked John up and down and clicked her tongue. "Yes, I am and it looks like someone needs to have been taking care of you. Did you get hit by a truck? Oh, never mind, come in here and tell me what you've been doing with yourself. I see you never managed to tame that hair." She grinned slyly. "I'll bet you have the girls falling all over you, don't you? You always were a looker."

John's face flushed as several of the high school kids passing by snickered at the comment. "Uh, Mrs. Weatherford, you're embarrassing me . . . again."

She laughed, her cheeks rosy and her red lipstick glistening. "I always could, honey." She leaned toward Joe and winked at the elder Sheppard. "Poor boy was always clueless while half the female population had a crush on him."

"Did not," John protested. "Besides, you know I only had eyes for you," he said coyly, sliding her a lop-sided grin.

"Oh, you!" she scolded, slapping John playfully on the arm.

"Hey, is Mr. Wilson still here?"

Mrs. Weatherford nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, he is and still teaching math. He'll be thrilled you stopped by. You're still one of his all time favorites, you know. I've heard him tell some of the those young genius-wanna-be's that they are no John Sheppard," she announced proudly.

John grinned, the revelation pleasing him. "Is he in the same room?"

"Yes, just go on down. Be sure to watch yourself in the hall. Some of these hooligans don't pay a lick of attention who they're knocking down."

John nodded and leaned over to give Mrs. Weatherford a final hug. "Thanks, Mrs. W. And thanks for watching out for me in high school."

"Glad to do it, John. I knew you were one of the good ones. You just needed a little mothering, that's all. Now go see Mark . . . uh, Mr. Wilson."

Joe found himself feeling slightly left out, but deep down knew it was of his own making. He'd provided for his son's physical needs in high school, but it was clear that these were the people who had provided for his emotional needs. Of all the thousands of kids that had been through here in the last twenty years, the office secretary remembered John specifically. He didn't remember ever being aware there was a Mrs. Weatherford, yet John had hugged her readily.

He followed John into a room past a line of students slowly filtering out.. A large man, at least two inches taller than him or John and built like a house, stood at the front of the room, talking to a teenage boy. He had thick salt and pepper hair and bushy mustache, with wire rimmed glasses perched on the edge of his long, thin nose. The student turned around and walked away and the man's eyes gazed their way. His bushy eyebrows shot up and a wide grin filled his face.

"John . . . John Sheppard . . . is it really you?" He came forward and looked like he might hug John as well, but stopped short to eye the man. He leaned carefully forward to hug John's good side and pat him gently on the back. "Son, I've wondered more than once what had became of you."

John pulled back, a big grin on his face, making him look years younger. "Hey, Mr. Wilson. Uh, this is my father, Colonel Joe Sheppard. I'm not sure if you two ever met."

Mark Wilson's face sobered as he studied Joe. Joe let out a slow breath and held out his hand. "I'm retired actually. I think maybe I owe you some thanks for the encouragement you gave my boy in high school. We . . . we were kind of struggling back then."

Wilson frowned slightly, but shook Joe's hand. "John was a good boy, just needed a little support to make him realize his potential. He's still the smartest kid I've ever had, at least in regards to his math ability."

John grinned and glanced at the floor before looking back to his father. "Dad and I have been mending some fences. We've come to an understanding, which is that we both bear some responsibility for our past battles. We're kind of starting all over on some things."

Wilson watched John's expression and the way he looked at his father, before relaxing. "I'm glad to hear it, it's never too late to try; It's important to keep your family close to your heart. So, what have you gotten yourself into?" he asked, looking pointedly at John's sling.

"I'm in the Air Force, have been for a while now."

Joe put his hand proudly on his son's shoulder. "He's a Lt. Colonel and the military commander of a base. He's home for a few days on medical leave."

Wilson smiled and gave a short nod. "I always knew you were a leader in there somewhere. You just needed a little confidence. Do you still blame yourself for everything that goes wrong?"

John rubbed the side of head and then lightly scratched the itch of his new scar. "Just when it is."

Wilson snorted. "Right." He was distracted by another man entering the room. The new man was an inch shorter than John and Joe, with a slightly pudgy belly and thin, gray hair.

"I heard that trouble-making Sheppard kid was back," he joked, striding towards them.

John grinned as they opened up the impromptu circle to make room for the new man. "Mr. Stanford, you're still here too!"

The man grinned and crossed his arms. "Well, someone has to keep the kids from cheating."

John's face flushed and he scratched his head again. "Man, it was just that one time."

"I know. That's probably why you were so bad at it," the man teased, winking at Wilson.

Joe's mouth dropped open and he stared at his son. "You got caught cheating?"

John bowed his head. "Yes," came the whispered response.

Joe was flabbergasted, never expecting to hear that his son had been caught cheating. "How did I not know about this?"

John looked back up at his father, shame filling his eyes. "Mr. Stanford gave me a chance to take the test again after school and he didn't turn me in. I just served detention for him, kind of off the record."

Stanford looked up at Joe. "Are you John's father?"

Joe nodded. "Yes, I am. And before you say anything . . . I know I wasn't much of a father to him back then. We're . . . trying to work through that."

"Well, I won't argue with you there," Stanford said bluntly. "I don't normally abide any kind of cheating. But I knew John was struggling with his grade and when Franklin told me what happened, I called John in to talk to him. I told him if he'd report every afternoon for the rest of the week for detention and take a harder test over the unit on Friday after school, I'd let the incident pass." He grinned and patted John on the arm. "I gave him the hardest test I ever created and he made a high B on it. Would have had an A if you hadn't gotten off on a tangent on that second essay question."

"I still say that whole conspiracy thing is load of crap," John said defensively.

Stanford sighed and shook his head. "That's all well and good, but that wasn't the question. You have to answer the questions I actually ask you."

Joe frowned and looked at his son. "I don't understand. What happened?"

John looked at Stanford and then back to Joe. "Do you remember me coming home one day during my junior year with a black eye and a bloody nose? You told me if I had time to stand around and get into fights after school, then I had time to clean out the garage."

Joe frowned and looked distant for a moment. "I think I may remember something like that, vaguely."

John nodded. "I stayed up almost all night cleaning the garage and didn't have time to study for my history test the next day. When I went in to take it, there was a little piece of paper rolled up and stuck in the back of the chair in front of me. I unrolled it while I was waiting on my test. It was someone's cheat sheet. I was panicking, thinking when I failed that test and my grade dropped, you were going to kill me . . . so . . . I used it." He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "And halfway through the test, Mr. Stanford came by and collected my test and the cheat sheet and told me how disappointed he was."

"And I was," said Stanford. "You're better than that, John, you always were."

John sighed and let his head drop forward again. "That was my first and last attempt at cheating, as well as one of the worst decisions of my life. When you told me how disappointed you were . . . it was like someone had kicked me in the gut."

Stanford put a hand on John's shoulder. "The fact that you felt that way and learned from the experience tells me that I did the right thing by giving you a second chance." He turned to Joe. "Would you like to know why he got in a fight?"

Joe nodded, wishing he'd bothered to ask his son all those years ago instead of just assuming it was his fault and punishing him.

"Franklin told me Josh Byers and three of his buddies were harassing him after school, pushing him around and telling him they were going to beat him up because he was a nerd; and because they could. John stepped in and told them to leave Franklin alone. Then he sent the boy home and took on all four bullies by himself. They beat him pretty badly, but not before he got some good licks in. They looked almost as bad as John the next day."

Wilson nodded. "I sent John to the nurse because he looked like he felt awful. She thought he might have a mild concussion and wanted him to go to the doctor. She told me you promised you'd get your Dad to take you. You never actually told him, did you?"

John shook his head. "I didn't need a doctor for a bump on the head."

Joe rubbed the side of his face. "Crap, John . . . I wish you'd said . . . but, I probably wouldn't have listened back then. I'm so sorry."

John narrowed his eyes. "Dad . . . we said we were going to stop doing that. We both made mistakes and we're moving past that."

"That was before I realized how genuinely crappy I was at the single parent thing. I never truly realized until now how much I was shutting you out after your mother died."

John gripped his father's arm. "Dad, it's okay. It's in the past, we'll get through this."

"I would agree," said Wilson. "A lot of families never start talking again, once communication breaks down. I'm glad to see you two working to reestablish your relationship. I know you'll both find it worth the effort."

Stanford cleared his throat. "Well, unlike Mark here, I actually have a class this period and they're probably wondering where I am by now. I need to go see if I still have a room."

As if on cue, a boy stepped into the room and looked around until he saw the group standing near the whiteboard. "Hey, Mr. Stanford, we were just wondering about you. Gloria thought we might should send out a search party or somethin'." He noticed John standing beside his teacher. "Hey, is that a guest speaker?" he asked hopefully.

John grinned and shook his head. "No, sorry. Just an old student catching up with his former teachers."

"Wow, dude, you went to high school here? Who beat you up?"

John chuckled. "Yes, I went to high school here and Mr. Wilson and Mr. Stanford were both teachers of mine."

"Lt. Colonel Sheppard is in the Air Force," said Wilson. "What did happen to you? I never got a chance to ask."

"He was injured protecting civilians during an enemy attack," filled in Joe proudly before John could open his mouth. "He was captured and held captive for almost two weeks before he was rescued by his team."

"Whoa, cool. I mean not cool, but cool. Is he gonna talk to our class?" asked the boy. "Can he?"

Stanford opened his mouth and then closed it as he turned to John. "Well, you know that isn't a bad idea. These kids think all there is to life is working at the local eatery and making a car payment. Maybe you could share some insight."

John grimaced. "I'm not sure how much insight I have to share. Mine hasn't been a trouble-free career. It's been almost as bumpy as my high school years."

"Perfect," said Stanford. "Maybe you could come talk to all my classes tomorrow."

John felt relief flow through him. Thank you Dr. Lam. "Oh, I can't. I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow afternoon."

Stanford frowned a minute, then smiled. "No problem, it was just a thought. If you're up to it though you _could_ do the rest of my classes today and come back tomorrow to pick up the morning classes?" He stared hopefully at John knowing full well he was putting him on the spot.

John looked down at his jeans and blue button up shirt. "I'm not exactly dressed in an Air Force uniform. Shouldn't I look more professional for a speaking engagement?"

Stanford crossed his arms and tilted his head a little. "Are you making excuses?"

"Yes, sir, I am. Are any of them working?"

"No, not really. I didn't accept them twenty-whatever years ago and I don't accept them now. Unless . . . well, what about your injuries? I don't want to stress you out too much."

John sighed, ignoring his father's laugh. "If you've got a chair I can sit in, I'll be okay. I guess you got yourself a guest speaker, just . . . don't expect too much."

"Woo-hoo!" yelled the boy in the door, jogging off to tell his classmates the good news.

Stanford sighed heavily and turned back to John. "Thank you, John, I think those kids could use a different perspective. Colonel Sheppard, you are welcome to stay too, if you'd like."

Joe smiled and nodded. "Thank you, I would. I'm still playing catch up myself and I might just learn something. This morning has already been a real education!" John winced at what his father had just learned about him. Dropping in had seemed like such a good idea an hour ago, now he was starting to feel the full heat of the spot light. He wasn't sure he was really ready for that.

"I'll stop by to see you before you leave," said Wilson. "And relax, you'll do fine."

John groaned as he limped out after Stanford, his father beside him. "And to think, I _asked_ to stop by here."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Note: **Continued thanks to all of you and many virtual hugs.

**Going Home - Chapter 4**

John and Joe stepped inside the classroom and stood against the wall near the door. George Stanford strode to the front of the room, the conversations slowly diminishing as he moved. His twenty-something students sat in desks lined up in neat rows, leaving only three empty seats. By the time Stanford stood at the podium, the room was silent.

"As you can see, there's no need for a search party, although I appreciate the concern. With Derrick's help, I have procured a last minute guest speaker." He paused as several students praised the young man that had appeared in Wilson's doorway just minutes ago. "Yes, yes, that means you're off the hook on notes today, but be happy quietly, please."

"So, do we have to take notes on the guest speaker?" came a voice from the back of the room.

Stanford just sighed slowly as he stared across the room and then turned to John. "You see, some things are constant across time." He turned back to his students and grimaced. "No, you don't have to take notes, just . . . be respectful and listen to what the man has to say. I think you could all stand to learn from his experiences."

"Which one?" asked a girl in the front, the inquisitive look on her face reminding John of Teyla.

"I'm sure you could learn something from them both, but I've only managed to talk one into speaking to you." He nodded for John to come forward and, as he did, Joe gave him a supporting clap on the back. "Class, this is Lt. Colonel John Sheppard of the United States Air Force. He also happens to be a former student of mine."

"Oh, dude, is he the John Sheppard Mr. Wilson goes on about?" asked Derrick.

"Yes, this is the math wizard Mr. Wilson tends to talk about. Anyway, he's in town for some leave time and dropped by to say hi, so, with Derrick's assistance, I've roped him into talking to you. Be sure to thank him before you leave for saving you from today's lecture, him being Colonel Sheppard, not Derrick." He turned to John and motioned out toward the class. "They're all yours. I can get you a chair or you can just sit on the end of my desk, you know, like you used to."

John limped over to Sanford's desk. "Is this new?"

"Yes, it is, at least relatively, so try not to destroy this one."

John perched his hip on the empty end of the desk and smiled. "I did not destroy your old desk. I just chipped a little of the corner off, gave it character. Besides, that was an accident and I still say that piece was already loose."

"Right, character. Well don't feel it your duty to give this one character." Stanford turned and motioned for Joe to join him, the two men sitting in empty desks near the back of the room.

John moved around a little, getting settled into a comfortable position before looking up to face the class. He cleared his throat and wondered what in the world he was doing here. "I've got to be honest with you, this was last minute, as you can tell from the way I'm dressed, and I don't have a clue what to talk about, so I'll just ramble for a minute and then let you guys ask questions. I've been in the Air Force for . . . I hate to admit it, but I've been in the Air Force almost as long as most of you have been alive. I've served on every continent and been stationed all over the world. I did tours in Afghanistan, Saudi Arabia, Italy, and a few other places. I was at McMurdo in Antarctica for a while, which was different. The place I'm stationed now is . . . kind of remote and unknown, and amazingly enough, I'm the military CO of the place. We work with a lot of civilians and it's our job to protect them, among other things. So, why don't you guys ask some questions, because I'm at a loss for where to go next."

A boy about halfway back on the row near the wall raised his hand. "Colonel, you said you are currently stationed in an unknown area. Could you be more specific about where that is and what kind of work is going on there that needs a lot of civilians?"

John sighed and glanced at his father, who grinned and shrugged his shoulders. "Okay, I don't mean this to sound all clandestine or anything, but the location and exact work is classified." More than one set of eyebrows shot up. "I can tell you that it's a research expedition and we work with a lot of scientists and that what we're doing is more important that you could ever imagine. That's part of the beauty of both working in the military and working in the scientific community. There's so much going on out there, so much that the average person has no idea about. It's exciting and it's scary and it's challenging, all at once."

"Sounds like you like you're job."

John gave the comment a lot of thought. "Some days I can't believe how lucky I am to be where I am. And some days I feel like I'm in so far over my head that I'm terrified. I'm terrified I'm going to fail big time and take lots of people out with me." His expression grew somber and his mind drifted for a moment. "I've seen a lot of people die, a lot of good people. People I couldn't save. Sometimes . . . I think I've seen too much to ever go back to being a real person again," he whispered. John felt the old familiar swell of fear and dread rise up in his chest, and he focused on the faces in front of him to push it back down.

Shaking his head, he plastered a smile on his face, making sure to avoid the eyes of his father. "But 99 days out of 100, I wouldn't trade my job for anyone else's."

"It sounds like wherever you're stationed is dangerous. Is that where you were injured? What kind of dangers are there?"

John looked down at the floor, knowing he couldn't even come close to answering that question, but he decided to at least try. "The particular area we're working in is virtually unexplored, at least by our people. We've discovered ruins of an ancient civilization that have provided us with both useful information and new dangers. Scientists are exploring both the historical aspect of the place, as well as the plant and animal life, since all of this is relatively unknown. There are a variety of native people around, some friendly, some not so friendly. One of the not friendly groups is what happened to me. Our scientists had been studying an area for a couple of days, when a group discovered us and decided we didn't belong. Instead of asking us nicely to leave, they chose to attack. I was laying down cover fire for my people to get the civilians out of there and I ended up getting caught. But we don't leave our people behind, so my team came back for me and got me out."

The room was dead silent for a few minutes before anyone spoke. "Sir . . . how long it take for them to rescue you?"

John bit his tongue, wishing he could have avoided this whole line of discussion. He schooled his features and tucked his emotions back. "Almost two weeks."

"What did they do to you?"

Stanford leaned over to the wide-eyed boy who had asked the question. "Randy, I'm not sure that's an appropriate question to ask."

John blinked a few times, trying to focus on the class and not the flashbacks starting to replay in his head. "It's okay. I . . . let's just say they wanted to know where our base was and . . . they were kind of insistent at times. When you go military, you have to be prepared. Prepared to get hurt, prepared to get caught, . . . prepared to die. That's the not so fun part of serving your country. It doesn't happen to every one, but . . . it does happen. And it can be hard, really hard.. You have to work with people you trust. I knew my team would come for me if I could just hang on. And that's what I did. They didn't let me down."

"Have you ever . . . you know . . . thought you were going to die, like for real?"

John snorted lightly, hearing Rodney in his head. _What are doing, trying to get yourself killed? Because you almost succeeded. _"A few times. I don't want to die, but I made my peace with it a long time ago. If that's what I have to do, I'm ready."

"Can you tell us about one?"

John thought a moment. "Our base was being attacked one time by an overwhelming force. There were a lot more of them than us and they wanted to kill us, pure and simple. We were holding them off, but we knew it was only a matter of time before they broke through our defenses. We had a weapon to neutralize them, but our delivery system failed. The only way for it to work was for someone to take it to them. I went. I left thinking there was no way I'd live to see the end of the day. And yet, here I am."

"How did you get out?"

John smiled, remembering his shock at hearing Caldwell's voice. "The cavalry arrived. Reinforcements we hadn't even been expecting showed up and got me out at the last minute." John grinned at their amazed faces. "It isn't always so glamorous. One of my near death experiences involved a rather large and dangerous bug, but that one is too creepy to talk about. I really hate those things." John shivered. He saw confusion in his father's face and realized he'd never told him about the iratus bugs. He would certainly have to now.

"Is there anything good about this place?" someone asked forlornly.

John sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. If only he could tell them about Atlantis. "Yeah, there's a ton of good stuff. For one thing, I've made some of the best friends of my life there. I think partly because we tend to be cut off a lot of the time, we've learned to lean on each other and trust one another with our lives. Most of us have learned to look past differences and focus on the similarities and our common goals. We have scientists and military personnel and natives, often working side by side on projects. We've learned from each other. Two members of my team are natives from the area and they can outfight any airman or marine on the base. One of them is a woman. She's been teaching me their form of stick fighting and after two years, she can still have me on the mat in less than five minutes most days. It's amazing what you can learn from people who are different than you if you just shut up and listen. These people are . . . well, they're family."

John sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't normally get all preachy, but I will pass on one piece of advice. People tend to focus on ways others are different than them – skin color, religion, culture, food, anything they perceive as being different. There's so many other things you need to consider. My two teammates that are natives of the area where we work are so vastly different from you or me in dress, foods, the way they were brought up, the basic way they lived. And yet we share so much in common. We fight a common enemy, we trust one another and back each other up, we learn from each other. We're stronger when we're together and that's helped us survive things that none of us could have survived alone. Look deep into who someone is before you dismiss them as being different and therefore inferior."

He looked at the doubtful expressions of the young faces in front of him. "Look, I know that sounds like a movie of the week or something . . . but if I hadn't given these people a chance . . . I'd have been dead a long time ago." The seriousness of his expression and voice commanded their attention and a wave of whispers went through the room. His eyes fell on his father, who along with Mr. Stanford, was smiling and nodding.

John grinned and decided the conversation had become too serious for him. "I'll give you another example. Despite what Mr. Wilson may have led you to believe, I was not a nerd in school. Alright, I may have been a bit of a math geek, but that was the only class, believe me. I had to work my hind end off in all the other subjects. I played baseball in my junior and senior years and did a little bit of basketball, so I leaned more toward the jock group than the geeks."

John paused to chuckle to himself, knowing the kids had no idea where he was going with this. "One of my team members is a scientist, an astrophysicist as a matter of fact. He's a certified genius and half the time I have no idea what he's talking about. He's arrogant, rude, self-centered, sarcastic, and the biggest hypochondriac I've ever met. He insults my intelligence, profession, hair, and anything else he can think of several times a day. He rambles incessantly and nags on me like a really bad ex-wife. My second in command asks me about once a week if he can kill him, along with half of the scientists that work under him."

John paused, a big grin on his face as he thought about Rodney. "He's also the best friend I've ever had. He's saved my life on several occasions, sometimes risking his life to do it. As a matter of fact, he was injured helping rescue me from the not-so-friendly's I mentioned earlier. I was unconscious, but according to Ronon, he put himself between me and one of the guards who had decided to finish me off with a metal rod rather than let me go. He got his arm broken in two places and some of the most colorful bruises I've ever seen protecting me. You don't come across friends like that every day," he said proudly.

Another round of murmurs filled the classroom, dying out as John's cell phone rang. He frowned and grabbed it, looking to see who the caller was. "Uh, sorry guys, but I have to take this." Embarrassed and unable to just walk out of the room for privacy, John turned away from the class as he opened his phone.

"Sheppard here."

"_Colonel, this is Walter at the SGC. Sorry to bother you on your leave like this, but we just received a transmission from Atlantis. Major Lorne said to inform you that the alpha site has been compromised and has to be moved. He indicated the two of you had discussed two possible planets for relocation in the event this happened, but he didn't know which you wanted to go with. I believe they wanted to start work on the new site immediately and he wanted to know how to proceed."_

"Tell him to set up P3Z-449. I think it'll be easier to secure in case of unexpected hostiles. And tell him to set the camp up Phoenix style, he'll know what it means. Anything else?"

"_The Major said to tell you to take care of yourself and get better quickly because Ronon is wearing his men out. And Dr. Weir says hello and they miss you. She also said to tell you Atlantis misses you and has been showing off."_

John grinned, warmth flowing through him. As much as he was enjoying getting to know his father again, he missed the hum of Atlantis and his friends. "Tell them I miss all of them as well and tell Ronon I don't want to return and find half my marines down for the count. Thanks, Walter."

John shut his phone and turned to face a class of wide-eyed teens. "Uh, sorry about that. One thing about being the CO is that down time doesn't mean you're not on call 24/7. Tiny crisis at home, but they're taking care of it. I have a terrific second in command."

Stanford looked at his watch and then glanced around the classroom. "I think we have time for one or two more questions."

After a few moments, a girl in the front gave John a small wave, drawing his attention. "What made you want to join the Air Force in the first place?"

"When I was about five, I decided I wanted to be just like my dad, and that meant joining the Air Force." He gave a slight nod to his father, who somehow managed to look embarrassed and proud at the same time. "And then when I was older, he started taking me up in airplanes with him when he could arrange it. I fell madly in love with flying on that very first trip out and it never diminished. The Air Force taught me to fly and gave me the opportunity to fly a variety of aircraft. I can fly a wide range of airplanes and helicopters and . . . a few classified things that not many people know exist."

The girl smiled and nodded. "If you could go back in time, with everything you know now, would you still join the Air Force? Even with all the death you've seen and being captured and hurt?"

John nodded. "I admit there are some decisions I second guess myself on and wish the outcome had been different. There are some things I've done that I wish I hadn't, but even now, I can't figure out a viable alternative. I've witnessed a lot of death over the years . . . and I've caused a lot of death . . . but I wouldn't change joining the Air Force and I wouldn't change where I am right now. It's hard to explain. It's the hardest job I've ever had and it's the most at home I've ever felt." He shook his head. "I know that probably makes no sense to you, because sometimes it doesn't make any sense to me. I'm not saying the Air Force is for everyone, because it isn't. McKay would have been killed before the end of the first week, if not by his own ineptitude with all things physical and weapons related, then by his fellow trainees."

John frowned a moment, lost in his thoughts. "You know even though our skills are very different, we mesh and we're happy with what we do. I think the secret is to do something you love, always give your best, and keep challenging yourself. And now I really do sound like a movie of the week." John chuckled, as did some of the students, before sobering and looking out at his audience. "Okay, as long as I'm giving sappy advice, here's one you'll really hate me for. Think about what you're doing and try to make decisions you can live with."

He paused, running his hand through his hair and grimacing at the memory he was dredging up. "That includes not drinking and driving. I made a poor decision when I was a freshman along those lines. I was too busy being rebellious and trying to fit in to think about what I was doing. Even though I wasn't driving, I made the decision to get in that car knowing we'd all been drinking. Three people died that night and I missed doing anything but school and physical therapy for the next year, while hoping I didn't walk with a permanent limp. I still think about those kids and I'll always wonder if I could have stopped what happened by doing what I knew was right instead of just mindlessly going with the flow. I made a stupid decision and now I get to live with the consequences. Trust me on this one; you don't want to go there."

The bell interrupted the silence that had descended on the room, making everyone flinch. John stood, leaning against the desk as the expected head rush passed. "I guess you're saved by the bell," he quipped. John carefully stretched his sore leg out a bit, trying to loosen the muscles before he attempted to put any weight on them. Mr. Stanford stood up with the students, nodding and speaking to some of them as they filed out of the room. Several of the teens came and thanked John for speaking to them. Mr. Stanford and Joe made their way up to John as the room cleared.

"Thank you, John," said Stanford. "I know that wasn't easy for you."

John just nodded quietly, feeling a little like he'd dropped his life in front of a bunch of strangers, spilling the contents and showing them stuff he'd meant to keep hidden. Part of him wanted desperately to run from the room and he might have been tempted to do just that if was capable of more than a slow limp.

"I know it's asking a lot, but could you stay for the other classes? Or at least the next class? There are some kids in there I'd really like you to talk to."

John took a deep breath and let it out slowly, bringing his eyes up to meet Stanford's caring ones. "I don't know . . . I just don't know that I have anything to say . . . they probably aren't listening anyway."

Stanford's eyes twinkled. "There were listening, most of them anyway. They'll come a lot closer to listening to you than me or their parents. You're someone from the big outside world, with real experiences and a dash of the hero aura."

John's eyes narrowed. "Don't say that", he snapped. "There's nothing heroic in anything I've done. I do my job and . . . sometimes I don't do that very well."

Joe and Stanford exchanged a worried glance before looking back at John. "Well, I don't believe any of that," said history teacher. "But if it makes you uncomfortable, I won't mention it again. What do you say, then? One more period and I'll buy you lunch in the cafeteria."

John tried to slow his pounding heart, unsure of why he felt so violated by sharing a few experiences with a group of high school students. He reminded himself that they probably weren't paying much attention and would forget what little they had heard as soon as they left the room. He was tired and beginning to hurt from his semi-perch on the desk. He was just going to have to decline.

Just before he answered, thoughts of the support this man had given him during his rather bleak high school years flashed through his mind and he knew he was going to cave. "Okay, I can do one more period, but I'm not promising anything beyond that." Students were already flowing into the room, murmuring to one another when they noticed two strangers in the room.

Stanford smiled and nodded. "Thank you, John. I wouldn't ask if I didn't think it would do some of them some good."

John looked at his dad. "You don't have to stay, Dad. I figure this will just be a replay for the most part."

Joe eyed his son critically. "Well, I do need to hit the grocery store if we're going to eat supper tonight. I could do that and grab your meds if you want, since we didn't plan on being gone this long."

Grateful, John nodded. The pain level was building and becoming sharper with the excess time on his feet. "That'd be great."

Joe didn't really look like he wanted to leave, but finally sighed and glanced at the almost full room. "Looks like a big audience. Maybe you should sit in a chair this time around. You look tired, son."

John rolled his eyes. "I'm fine, Dad, really. Now go. I'll see you when you get back."

"I'll keep an eye on him," said Mr. Stanford. "If we aren't here when you return, we should be in the cafeteria."

"Thanks," said Joe. "I'll see you later." He turned and left the room as the bell rang to start the next class.

Mr. Stanford introduced John to the class and then pulled his padded chair around the desk for John to sit in, insisting that he use it. John protested weakly, but was grateful for the support the chair gave. The class went much as the one before it, with many of the same questions being asked. John anticipated some of them and supplied the information quickly, leaving room for a few more questions. The atmosphere wasn't quite as receptive as the first class, with slightly more talking and a few out of place comments (Do you guys have sex with one another since you work in a secluded place? How have you been tortured and did you tell them anything? How many men have you killed? Do you like it when you kill people? Could you show us the easiest way to kill someone?). John felt relieved when the bell rang and the students began to leave.

"That was . . . different," said John as he followed Mr. Stanford down the hall toward the cafeteria.

"The first class you spoke to was an honors class. Half of those kids are seniors with their eyes already on college and the years beyond. They're all strong, hard-working kids with a future.. That last class, not honors. Half of those kids will probably end up in prison or on welfare unless they wake up pretty soon." He smiled a small, almost sad smile. "Of course, at the beginning of the year, I would have said that about three quarters of them, so we've made some progress."

John grimaced. "I wasn't exactly honors material, but please tell me I was never that bad?"

Stanford sighed and shook his head. "John, you could have been honors material in every class if you'd wanted to, if you'd just believed in yourself. As much as you try to convince us all that math is your only strong subject, none of us are buying it. I just wish we'd been able to convince you of that. You're not nearly as clueless as you make out. And you were _never _like the kids we just left, thank goodness."

They entered the very full and very noisy cafeteria and John winced. He was used to standing in line for food, but Atlantis's mess hall was smaller, quieter, and not nearly so crowded. The headache that had been building combined with the strange smell of the room and the noise to make him suddenly feel less than hungry. He wished his father had made it back before now so that he could bow out of this gracefully. Tired and aching, all he really wanted to do was take some pain meds and get horizontal.

"John, I know you don't feel like standing in that line. I'll go to the front and grab us each a tray. Why don't you get a seat."

John didn't argue, just nodded and headed across the cafeteria to a small empty table against the wall. He was almost there when he saw a student almost as tall as him, but with a bit of a chubby belly, that looked strangely familiar. The student stood with two other students behind a skinny boy with glasses sitting at a table close to the one he was heading for. He tried not to notice that the skinny kid looked scared to death and the big kid was scowling and red in the face. He caught part of the conversation as he walked by.

"Did you write that term paper for me or not? And the answer better be yes or we'll beat the shit out of you after school. I'll put you in the hospital, you useless geek. Now hand it over."

"I . . . I'm sorry . . . I didn't get finished . . . I started, but my Mom –"

"You didn't _finish_? I had to have a good grade on that term paper to pass, you moron. I hope you didn't plan on living long, because you aren't gonna. I think I'll give you a small taste of what's to come."

John stopped at the table and stood across from the seated student, whose face was so white John thought he might pass out. The big, familiar looking kid was drawing his fist back to hit the other kid in the lower back, where other people in the cafeteria would be less likely to see. One of his two friends cleared their throat at the sight of John, making the bully look up.

"I don't think I'd do that," said John calmly. "Maybe you should leave him alone."

The bully stood up to his full height and straightened his shirt, looking at John in disgust. "What's it to you? You should probably mind your own business."

John smirked. "You know, I've been told that before, but I just don't listen sometimes. My friends tell me I'm stubborn that way. If you're itching to hit someone, why don't you and your friends just go outside and hit on each other and leave this guy alone. He isn't bothering you that I can see."

The bully walked up and got right in John's face, and the cafeteria began quickly growing silent as surrounding crowds noticed the confrontation. John not only noticed the shift in attention, but he also noticed that his friend was taking note as well. He could see the kid's eyes shifting as he decided what to do. John had a really bad feeling he knew what the kid would do in order to maintain what he saw as his reputation, so he tried to intercept it.

"Look, no one's been hurt and I'm sure we could all just go back to doing our own thing and look past this little misunderstanding."

The bully sneered and spit on John's shirt. "The misunderstanding is you thinking you could waltz in here and tell me what to do. I don't know who you are, but you have a lot to learn about the way things work around here and who's running this place." The boy went to punch John, but John dodged sideways and grabbed the boy's arm with his good hand and twisted, flipping the kid onto the floor. When one of the other boys came at him, he dropped and swept the kid's legs out from under him. When he couldn't get up very quickly because of his injuries, he repeated the maneuver on the second friend, surprised when the same action worked twice in a row.

By the time he reached his feet, he had his left arm out of the sling for better defense and he could hear some of the kids taunting "fight, fight", while the buzz of conversations grew. The two side-kicks of the bully came at him from opposite sides, and he ducked the punch of one while grabbing his arm and throwing him into the other, sending them both crashing into the next table. As he turned back to the original bully, the boy crashed into his left shoulder, knocking them both into the wall before hitting the ground. Lights flashed inside his head with the hot stabbing pain to his shoulder, ribs, and injured leg, which he had naturally fallen on. For a moment he felt paralyzed as he tried to catch his breath. The bully was on him, straddling him and punching him while the shouts of people in the background buzzed like a live wire in his ears. Momentarily forgetting the person on top of him was a teenager, he brought his fist up and hit the kid in the side of the head. Not expecting the blow, the bully shifted partially off him and made an opening for the Colonel.

John quickly pushed the kid off and rolled him over, pulling one arm up behind his back so far he almost broke it. The kid flailed with his free arm, pounding his hand on the floor and begging John to let him go. John was gasping for air, his body filled with pain and his only thought that of keeping the enemy pinned down until help arrived.

A familiar voice cut through the fog that had narrowed his focus. "The two kids over there on the floor and the one John has pinned." Mr. Stanford kneeled beside John, making sure he was in John's line of sight. "John, security is here. You can let him go."

John looked blankly at Stanford for a moment and then back down at the bully, making groaning whimpering noises as he weakly continued to hit the floor with his free fist. "Oh . . . okay." John let the boy go and slid his left knee off the kid's back. Stanford and Wilson helped him stand up and all he could think of was where had Mr. Wilson come from.

"John, we're going to take you to the nurse, okay?" asked Wilson.

John was beginning to be more aware and he noticed the throngs of students watching as three men dressed in uniforms escorted the bully and his two buddies from the room. The room had gone strangely quiet as everyone watched the weird parade. As soon as they cleared the room, there was a thunderous eruption of talking and laughing, making the pounding in John's head escalate.

"John?" said Stanford, handing him a wad of paper towels. "You're nose is bleeding."

John looked at his old teacher and saw concern there. "Uh, 'kay." Taking the offered towels, John could now feel the blood streaming down his upper lip. The taste made his stomach churn as he wiped the blood from his face. He tucked his left arm in close to his ribcage as Wilson moved up to his right side and slid his arm around the wounded pilot's waist.

"Lean on me, John, and we'll get you out of here."

John surprised himself when he ended up putting most of his weight on Mr. Wilson in an effort to take it off his throbbing leg. His mind felt slow and scrambled as he tried to figure out how things had gotten out of hand so quickly. He'd just taken out three high school students and he was praying he hadn't really injured any of them. He'd zoned out for a few moments and it terrified him to think of what might have happened if he'd had a weapon. It seemed no matter where he went or how hard he tried, he just kept screwing everything up.

TBC

_I think we now know the origin of the phrase "trouble magnet". Surprised?_


	5. Chapter 5

**Going Home - Chapter 5**

Joe Sheppard felt an old familiar fear tie his stomach into knots when he pulled into the high school parking lot to see two patrol cars parked at the front door. A flash of anger accompanied the immediate thought of _What has John done now? _As he pulled into a parking place, the anger dissolved to be replaced by guilt. Is this how he had reacted to everything, automatically assuming John was at fault when something went wrong. Grimacing, he got out of the car and headed inside, knowing it was the truth. He was further finding out that apparently old habits died hard. Even as he realized what he was doing, he could feel anger simmering just below the surface and he hated himself for it.

"Colonel Sheppard?"

He looked over to see Mrs. Weatherford hurrying out of the office as he passed and he paused to wait for her. "Oh, hi Mrs. Weatherford. I was just coming back to see if John's ready to go."

The round face before him was lined with worry. "I'm afraid there was a bit of an . . . incident. John's in the nurse's office and I'm supposed to take you to him. If you'll just follow me."

Joe attempted to push back the troubling thoughts that kept trying to take over his brain. He didn't know anything yet. It might not be John's fault. The man he was getting to know would not cause trouble without good reason and he focused on that knowledge. A police officer stepped out of the room they were approaching, nodding as he passed them. Mrs. Weatherford stopped at the door, indicating he should enter.

Joe stepped in to see John lying on one of two beds against the wall in the far corner of the room. Mark Wilson leaned against the wall at the head of the bed and a woman in blue scrubs sat in a rolling chair beside the bed John occupied. George Stanford paced anxiously back and forth near the door. They all looked up at his entrance. The dark-haired nurse stood and walked up to him, holding out her hand.

"Hello, I'm Carrie Johnson, the school nurse."

"Joe Sheppard, John's father," he said, shaking her hand. It sounded odd saying that to a school nurse about his adult son. "Is John okay?"

"I'm fine," replied John, looking sheepishly up at his father.

Joe smiled down at his son, still nervous, but glad to know that John seemed all right. "No offense, son, but I wasn't asking you. What happened?"

George Stanford threw up his arms in dismay. "Kevin Byers and his little gang of thugs, that's what happened."

John's head came up off the pillow. "Byers?"

Stanford stopped pacing to look at John and nod. "Yes, it's Josh Byers' kid. In this case, the acorn didn't fall very far from the tree."

John eased his head back down, frowning. "How old is he?"

Wilson looked down at John. "He's almost 19, so they'll put him in jail for assault. He failed a grade or two along the way, imagine that. I suspect the only reason he's still here is to sell drugs and bully the kids. This should get rid of him, though."

"Nineteen?" asked John in amazement.

"Yeah, Josh was apparently the one who got Suzie Wright pregnant while you guys were in high school, but she hid the name of the father for a long time. I can see why," said Wilson.

Stanford briefly explained to Joe what had happened, putting together what he'd seen with what the students had told him. When he had finished, he looked down at John. "I'm sorry about all of this, John. Usually the kids just pick fights with each other instead of guests. Of course we don't usually have guests trying to save students from each other."

Joe crossed his arms and tried to look stern. "I leave you alone for an hour and look what happens. Getting into fights at school. What's next, boy?"

John grinned through the grimace of pain as a chuckle turned up the fire in his ribs. "Guess you'll have to ground me . . . just . . . don't make me laugh."

Joe looked back at the nurse. "Is he okay?"

"Yes, I don't think he's pulled anything loose. He's added some new bruises and woken up the old ones, though, so he's going to hurt for a bit. He was a little disoriented when he first got here, but there's no evidence he hit his head. He indicated he'd had a recent head injury that he's still suffering with headaches and dizzy spells from, so I think getting knocked around may have jarred him some and increased those symptoms. I told him if he experiences any blackouts, nausea, vomiting, or a significant increase in his pain levels, you should go ahead and take him to the hospital. I believe he said he has a doctor's appointment tomorrow. I'd tell the attending physician about this so he can double check Colonel Sheppard's injuries."

"Thank you, Miss Johnson. Can I take him home now?" he asked as he glanced at the people in the room. He was unsure of who he should address the question to.

Wilson pulled away from the wall. "Yes, the police already took his statement. Let me give you a hand," he said as he leaned over to put one hand behind John's shoulder, helping him into a sitting position.

Joe pulled a prescription bottle from his pocket. "I've got your pain pills and I know you're hurting. You want to take one before we get you up?"

John looked at the bottle and rested his face in his right hand. "Actually, I think I'll wait until we get back to the house and take one of the other ones, maybe lie down for a while."

Joe frowned a bit, noticing how pale John was now that he was sitting up. His son looked tired, the lines of pain deep in his forehead and around his eyes. "Let's get you home, then." He and Wilson helped John to his feet, holding tightly onto him until he steadied and gave them a short nod.

"Thank you," said Joe as he followed a slow moving John to the door, watching for any sign his son might need help. A path cleared for them as they walked down the hall toward the door, hushed whispers following them all the way. As they passed the office door, a short, skinny boy with glasses came out and walked up to John.

"Uh, Colonel Sheppard . . . I just wanted to thank you. I . . . I really thought Kevin was going to hurt me this time."

John stood with his left arm, now back in the sling, pressed closely to his side. "Are you okay? I wasn't sure if you got caught up in what was going on or not. I kind of lost track."

"I'm fine, but my Dad's on the way to pick me up. I told the police how you were trying to talk Kevin into not hurting me and he threw the first punch." The kid grinned nervously and pushed his sagging glasses up onto the bridge of his nose. "That was cool how you managed to take all three of them down, in spite of already being hurt. I wish I knew how to fight like that."

John sighed. "Fighting isn't always the answer, although sometimes it seems to be unavoidable. I'm just glad you're okay."

"Oh, I'm great. Mr. Crowley, the principal, says that none of them will be allowed to come back. They've been making my life miserable all year and now . . . I'm free of them. Thank you again, Colonel Sheppard."

Joe marveled at how utterly relieved the kid looked. If he'd been threatened and harassed the whole year, no wonder he was thrilled to have the bullies gone. Joe suddenly swelled with pride at his son, while feeling ashamed of his initial thoughts of anger when he'd first arrived. He still had so much to learn about his son.

"Come on, John, let's get you home."

John gave the kid a mock salute and shuffled toward the door, Joe carefully monitoring each step he took. The trip home was quiet, with John leaning his head back and closing his eyes. As Joe pulled up in the driveway and parked, John lifted his head and opened his eyes.

"Hang on and I'll help you out."

John made a face that was part frown and part grimace. "I'm not helpless, you know."

Joe smiled as he climbed out of the car. "You always were independent."

John just grunted as he got out and slowly shuffled toward the house. Joe walked behind his son, watching the way he struggled to remain upright and tried to minimize the limp. As he unlocked the door and let them in, Joe resisted the urge to reach out and help support him. "Hey, I'm assuming you never got lunch and you really shouldn't take strong pain medicine on an empty stomach. How about I fix you a sandwich?"

John was already limping toward the bedroom. "That's okay, Dad, I'm not really hungry."

"I've got smoked turkey from the deli and some really good sandwich rolls they make right in the store. You know you should eat something."

John hesitated and looked back at him, surprise on his face. "Turkey? You remembered," he said softly.

Joe shrugged his shoulders. "Well, it's been a long time and I didn't know if it was still your favorite, but yes, I remembered." He'd been standing in line at the deli department trying to decide what to get when he remembered John had always demanded turkey on his sandwiches. He could still hear his wife joking with John when he was six or seven, telling the boy he was going to turn into a turkey sandwich.

A bit of a smile twitched on John's lips. "I could probably eat a sandwich."

Joe nodded. "Good, I'll fix the sandwiches and you grab your pills. Meet you in the kitchen."

"Sounds good."

A few minutes later, Joe set two plates on the table, each with a sandwich and chips. He then poured two glasses of milk and set them down as well. John made a face at him.

"Milk? Dad, I'm not ten any more."

Joe chuckled and pointed to the glass. "No, but you need it. Milk, it does a body good. Don't you listen to commercials?"

"Not so much," John smirked.

Joe curled his lips into a grimace. "Oh . . . I forgot . . . I guess you don't. Well, the milk is still good for you, so drink it."

John took a bite of his sandwich and chewed for a few seconds. He sat looking blankly at his plate for a moment before looking up at Joe. "Dad, I'm sorry about today."

Joe stopped chewing and swallowed, tilting his head slightly as he stared at his son. "What are you sorry about?"

John poked at his chips, breaking them one by one. "You know, the whole mess at school. I didn't . . . I didn't mean to cause so much trouble."

Joe stared at his son. "How was that your fault? What do you think would have happened to that kid if you'd walked on by and not stepped in?"

John shook his head. "That's not what I mean. I just think . . . maybe I could have tried a different approach, said something to stop that guy. I let things get out of hand. Dad, I could have hurt one of them."

Joe leaned forward across the table, placing a hand on John's forearm. "But you didn't. You saved that kid from a sound beating and maybe from future harassment by those hooligans. You did the right thing, John, and don't you doubt it for a minute." He sat back up in his chair and let a small smile slide across his face. "You always did have a protective streak in you, even when you were little." He distinctly remembered his son standing up against kids much bigger and older when young neighborhood children were threatened.

John sighed and his features relaxed a bit. "I guess it's hereditary."

Joe looked up quizzically from the sandwich he was about to bite. "What do you mean by that?"

John broke into a grin as he looked at his father. "I seem to remember you tackling a purse snatcher one night after the three of us had been shopping . . . Christmas shopping I think. That may have been the moment I decided I wanted to be just like you."

Joe pursed his lips and gazed over John's shoulder, deep in thought. A minute later, his mouth dropped open and he looked at his son. "You remember that?"

John nodded. "Yes, sir, like it was yesterday. Well, maybe last week."

Joe shook his head. "But you were . . . like five or something. How can you remember that? Your mother was furious with me."

John nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, she was. I think she slapped you."

Joe laughed out loud, leaning back in his chair as he brought up the memory. "She said the guy could have been armed and I could have gotten myself killed. Then she hugged me because she was so glad I was okay. And then she cried. God, I miss her," he said wistfully.

"Me too. But she was so proud of you for catching the guy. I remember you knocked him down and held him until the police arrived. I thought that was the coolest thing I'd ever seen. That lady was so grateful, I think she cried too."

"Yes, she did. She had cashed her paycheck that day and all the money she had for food and rent was in her purse. I was just glad I could help."

"We were so proud of you that night. It was like having a superhero for your dad."

Joe smiled at his son. "Then you have some idea of how proud of you I was today. You know, she would have been proud of you too."

John's eyes grew moist as he looked at his father. "You . . . you've never said that to me before."

Joe cringed, looking at his son as remorse filled him. "I know, and I should have. She would be so proud of you, of the man you've become. I'm proud of you. Son, I've harbored a lot of anger over the years and I directed a lot of it at you. I've only come to realize in this past year that I wasn't really angry at you, I was angry at losing your mom. I didn't know what to do with my grief and you were there, needing me and looking so much like her, making me miss her even more. So I ended up taking my frustration out on you instead of helping you like I should have."

Joe blew out a long, deep breath and chewed on his lower lip a moment. "John, I'd give anything if I could have seen what I was doing to you, to us, but I didn't. I just kept pushing you and driving the wedge between us deeper and for that . . . I'll always be sorry." He held up his hand as John opened his mouth to speak. "No, I know we said we were done apologizing, but . . . I just needed to say that. I needed you to know that it was never about not loving you, because I did. I was hurting . . . and part of me was afraid of getting hurt again. Pushing you away let me vent my anger and grief while putting enough distance between us that I thought I couldn't be hurt if anything ever happened to you. All I did was make both of us miserable."

John sat staring at his plate for a long time, his expression unreadable. Joe didn't know if he'd made things better or worse. He studied his son, trying to get a hint of what he was thinking. John finally looked up at him and reached across the table to put his hand on his dad's. "I love you Dad. That's the only thing that matters to me."

Joe breathed out a sigh of relief. "I love you too, son."

oOo

John jerked awake, gasping for breath and frantically rubbing his hands against his pants in an effort to get the blood off. The image of Kevin Byers, his throat slit by John's knife, still lingered in his mind, making his stomach churn violently. He sat up, ignoring the pain in his shoulder and ribs as he fought to breathe. A bead of sweat ran down the side of his face, tickling his skin. Holding his hands out, he could see in the late afternoon light that there was no blood, but he could still feel it, warm and slick as it oozed up between his fingers.

John had to clench his jaws together to keep from puking as his muscles contracted forcefully in an effort to empty his stomach of its contents. He lurched from the bed, pushing all pain back as he dashed for the bathroom across the hall. He fell more than kneeled beside the toilet, pushing the lid and seat up with his right hand as his left palmed the side of the bowl. He was barely over the opening before he began to heave, wave after wave of gagging until nothing more was being expelled.

When the uncontrollable spasms finally stopped, John lay his right arm across the lip of the bowl and let his face rest against his arm. He could feel the tears on his face from the effort. The cool ceramic felt good against his skin as he wondered if he'd ever have the energy to get up. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the flashes of his dream to go away.

The sound of running water startled him and he rolled his head up off his arm just as his father handed him a damp rag. Taking it with a shaking hand, he pulled away from the commode to lean back against the side of the tub and wash his face. He drew the action out, the cool, damp cloth feeling good against his sweat-streaked face. When he went to hand the rag back to his father, the man traded him for a cup of water. John gave a short nod and took a sip, leaning forward to spit it in the toilet, before drinking half the cup's contents. Setting the cup on the floor between his legs, he rubbed his face, trying to get his mind to focus.

"John, maybe I should -"

"No," John interrupted as he looked up at his father. "It was just a nightmare. I'm okay." He didn't know what else to say. His brain felt like it was covered with some kind of muffling fuzz, making his thoughts slow and sluggish. His mouth was dry and his ribs felt like someone had kicked him recently. He finished draining the water from the cup and handed it back to his dad. When he went to stand, it seemed like his limbs weren't completely connected to his brain. He hated pain meds for this reason. The lingering effects after you woke up really sucked.

"Can I get you anything? Do you want to go back to bed?"

John recognized the worry in his father's face and he felt bad for having caused it. As he started to answer, he hesitated. "Is someone here? I think I hear voices."

Joe nodded. "Yes, your teachers came by to make sure you were okay and a couple of kids from Mr. Stanford's class came with them."

John ran a hand through his hair as he looked in the mirror. He looked bad. His eyes looked sunken and heavy, almost like he was drunk. He hadn't realized how pale he was and the contrast of his dark hair going every which direction was almost comical. The weight he'd lost seemed to stand out now more than ever, his face thin and gaunt, his clothes hanging loosely from his frame. He hadn't shaved this morning out of pure laziness and five o'clock shadow didn't begin to do justice to the facial hair coming in. He reminded himself of some half-crazed, semi-starved derelict. What had he been thinking to go out in public?

"John?"

He glanced around at his father, looking more concerned by the minute. "Sorry, I just . . . I didn't realize how bad I looked."

"Son, you've been through a trauma and you're still recovering. Give yourself some time. They came by to see you because they are concerned about you, not to see what you look like." Joe frowned at him and stroked his cheek. "Although you could use a shave." He immediately grinned and patted his son on the shoulder. "I'm kidding. Come on and say hello . . . if you feel like it."

John sighed and ran one hand through his hair, trying to make at least a little of it lay down. "Yeah, okay, if you don't think I'll scare them."

Joe rubbed John's head as he went by him. "You're fine."

"Hey, stop that. You don't mess with the hair."

Joe snickered at his son as he followed him out of the bathroom. "Like anyone could tell."

"Might as well have Rodney here," John muttered under his breath as they entered the living room. Mr. Wilson and Mr. Stanford both stood up. Two girls John recognized from the first class he'd talked to looked at one another and then stood as well. If he hadn't felt like crap, he might have laughed at their confusion. He waved his good hand weakly at them.

"Please, sit, I'm not the President or anything." He held his left arm cradled protectively against his aching ribs as he lowered himself into the nearest chair. His father walked around him as the others resumed their seated position and then paused.

"John, where's your sling?"

John let a small smile slide across his face. "Uh, my room? I'll be okay for a few minutes."

Joe looked uncertain, but he sat down next to John.

"We just came by to make sure you were okay," said Mr. Wilson.

John gave a small nod. "Thanks, but I'm fine. Are Kevin and the others okay?"

Wilson scowled as he sighed. "Yes, they're fine. Kevin is still in jail and is being charged with assault. The other two are minors and have been released to their parents, for all the good that will do. I'm sure they'll be processed through juvenile court. They are all suspended from school until the school board meets and they'll likely be expelled or sent to alternative school."

"If we're lucky, they'll lock Kevin up and throw away the key," said the blonde girl sitting next to Mr. Wilson.

John frowned as he looked at his visitors. "I hope it won't be a problem, but I won't be here when all this goes to court. I have to fly out of here a week from Saturday at the latest."

"I don't think that will be a problem," said Stanford. "The police have your statement and there were quite a few witnesses. We should probably let them know in case they want to talk to you again."

"I told the officer I talked to," said John. He noticed the two girls were whispering to Mr. Wilson and he began getting an uncomfortable feeling. "Is there something else?"

Mr. Wilson looked expectantly at the two girls, finally sighing. "Meagan, Katie, this was your idea. You should be the one to ask him."

John narrowed his eyes, glancing at his father for some hint of what was going on, but Joe was looking at the girls questioningly as well. He looked back at the two teens as they stared at each other, having a silent competition about who was going to speak. He was tired and sore and his brain still felt like it was surrounded by a thick haze, leaving him with almost no patience. "Someone just tell me what's going on," he barked, harsher than he had intended.

The two girls jumped, looking sheepishly at him. The blonde finally slid forward in her seat a few inches. "Sorry, we're just a little nervous. I'm Meagan Thompson. Colonel, we really appreciated everything you said this morning and . . . well, the way you stopped Kevin from hurting William was amazing. We've been talking to Mr. Stanford and Mr. Wilson about you and . . . Okay, here's the thing. We want you to speak at an assembly sponsored by the Student Council next week. We think the whole student body could benefit from some of the things you told us today."

"No."

The other girl had dark skin and big brown eyes that reminded John of Teyla. She pushed forward to sit beside Meagan. "Colonel Sheppard, we know this is short notice and we also know you'd need to keep it short because you're injured and everything, but we really think that –"

John pushed to his feet. "No. There's nothing I can say that will make a difference. Trust me, no one wants to hear from a screw up pilot like me. The answer is no." He staggered a moment, ruining the air of finality he was going for, but regained his footing to move quickly into the kitchen and away from the stunned stares he could feel at his back.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**Note: **You guys continue to blow my mind. Many, many thanks!!

**Going Home - Chapter 6**

John leaned against the sink, his right hand on the counter, his breaths coming in hitching gasps. Thoughts and emotions swirled randomly through his mind in a torrent, leaving him disoriented. Closing his eyes, he thought of Dorothy in the _Wizard of Oz _for some reason and wondered if he could click his heels together. But where would he go?

He felt more than heard his father behind him. Opening his eyes, he stared at the wall in front of him.

"John, what was that about? Where did that come from?" His voice sounded part worried, part angry.

John chuckled, but without humor as he let his head dip forward. "Weren't you listening? I said what I wanted to say. I screw up everything I touch and it usually ends in people dying. I'm a worthless failure, a disgrace, remember? The only thing I could teach any of those kids is how to disappoint people."

Joe stepped back, the familiar words slapping him in the face. His stomach coiled at hearing what he'd so carelessly hurled at his son when he'd come home from Afghanistan. The realization that John had taken his harsh judgment to heart and carried it with him all these years tore at him. "John . . . you're not…I should never… never have said that to you."

"Oh no . . . you were right; more right than you ever thought. Do you know how many people I've killed over the years? I single handedly killed over 60 Genii soldiers in one night, actually, in about one minute, one single body at a time… they hit the shield, one – by – one… until they were all gone; just one minute, one second for each life, each family I destroyed… I did that. Hell, I killed my _commanding officer_ within the first couple of _days_ of the expedition. I started in junior high school with that wreck and the bodies just keep piling up."

Joe planted his hand firmly on John's good arm and turned him around. "Look at me. None of that was your fault, John, none of it – and don't go throwing the "you weren't there" thing at me. I've been military for a long time son and from what you've told me of the Wraith, I have no doubt that Sumner was grateful for your intervention. As to the Genii, you said it yourself, you were defending your city. None of this makes you a failure or worthless."

John ran a trembling hand through his hair, shaking his head. "It doesn't change the fact that everywhere I go, people die, either through my action or lack of it. I jumped in that car and it crashed, three people died. I couldn't save Dex and Mitch and I couldn't save Holland. Even managed to almost get myself court-martialed. Did you know I actually _liked_ it in Antarctica? I thought maybe I wouldn't get anyone killed there. I could just hide and stay out of trouble. And then I took General O'Neill for a ride and sat in that stupid chair."

"John, don't do this to yourself. This . . . this is my fault."

John had started to pull away from his father, but stopped cold. "No, it's no one's fault but mine. It's who I am Dad, and as much as I've tried to change it, people are still dying. Here, and in my dreams."

Joe sighed and closed his eyes a moment. "No, John, it's me. I've planted this idea in your head. I've been such a fool. It's just now sinking in to my thick skull. I've told you over and over since you were twelve that you were a disappointment. Nothing you ever did was good enough. I never focused on the good in what you did, only on whatever I could find that was lacking. I've slowly convinced you that you really can't do anything right, that everything bad is your fault. I'm so sorry son. I just . . . I had no idea that's what I was doing at the time, and now . . . it seems so obvious. No wonder you couldn't wait to move out after you graduated."

John stared at the floor, his emotions and thoughts still in turmoil, muddled and disoriented, in body and in mind. Thoughts and memories from his younger years flooded in, confusing him even more. "Part of me has always loved you . . . but for a while . . . " He shuddered, swaying slightly and felt his father put out a hand to steady him. "For a while . . . I . . . I thought I . . . hated you." He couldn't believe he'd said it out loud. In that instant, he knew he'd destroyed the relationship he and his father had been working to build the last two days.

An arm came around his waist, pulling him in close to support his faltering stance. "I don't blame you." Joe said quietly. "I would have hated me too. I've been hating myself more than you ever could. All I can do, is hope that you don't hate me now. And that with time, I can convince you that you aren't the screw up you seem to think you are. Your friends obviously don't think so, they think you're worth knowing…"

"You don't understand," John said almost frantically. "Because of me, thousands have died, maybe millions. _I_ woke up the Wraith and attracted them to Athos. Because of me, they captured Sumner and found out about Earth. _I _killed the caretaker and woke up her hive. Every time we come across a world decimated by the Wraith, I face the fact that they are all dead because of me"

Joe's mouth hung open in disbelief. He weakly shook his head. "John . . . oh, son, you can't believe that. I can't even begin to imagine carrying around that much guilt. You didn't know . . . no one did."

John laughed bitterly, swiping his hand across his face. "Doesn't matter. Sometimes . . . sometimes I think it would have been better if I'd died in that wreck. A lot of people would still be alive."

The sharp intake of his father's breath made John look around. His father had squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his jaw and for a moment the only sound was of hitched breathing. He continued slowly, almost whispering. "Don't you _ever_ say that! I can't ever make you understand the pain I felt believing you were dead. Even if you hadn't activated that necklace, someone else might have. And the Wraith would have woken up eventually anyway. Your actions may have inadvertently caused some deaths, but I happen to know that your actions have saved many lives as well. If I talk to your friends in Atlantis, what will they tell me? Will they tell me you're a liability or an asset? What about this Elizabeth you've spoken so highly of? It seems that she's quite anxious to have you remain the military commander of the city. Would she do that if she thought you were dangerous?"

John didn't say anything, his mind almost unable to process the discussion they'd just had. What the heck was wrong with him? Joe wrapped his arms around his son, hugging him as tightly as he dared, wincing at the thin frame beneath his grasp.

John just stood still, comforted by the warmth and strength of his father's arms and yet still feeling like he didn't deserve any of it. He couldn't get the images of the dead, both real and dreamed, out of his head. He couldn't seem to push the guilt down as he normally did. Maybe it was the drugs he was taking, maybe it was the emotional roller coaster he was on since coming home, maybe he'd just finally lost it. The only thing he knew for sure was that he had to get his act together before returning to Atlantis.

"I have to get back to Atlantis. I have to do what I can to protect them. I owe them that much." John wasn't sure if he was talking to his father or himself. Part of him wanted so badly to return, to try to make up for his shortcomings and the devastation they had caused.

"You will, you just have to give yourself some time to heal, and not just physically. You can't fight the Wraith if you don't take care of yourself." Joe released his grip and let John lean back against the counter.

John looked at his father as he took a deep breath and wiped his face once more with a trembling hand. "Please tell me they aren't still out there."

Joe shook his head. "No, they left."

John nodded, still looking at the floor. "Guess I was rude."

"Don't worry about it. They know you've been through a lot, especially with what happened today. Mr. Wilson said they'd give you some space and they'll check back later."

"Okay. I think I need to sit down now." John could feel the muscles in his legs trembling slightly and he really didn't want to do a face plant in his father's kitchen.

Joe kept hold of John's good arm and guided him to a chair at the kitchen table. He walked away and returned a few seconds later, setting a can of Sprite on the table in front of John. "Here, thought you might be thirsty."

John frowned at the drink. "Since when do you drink Sprite?"

Joe sat down across from him and opened a Coke. "I usually don't. I remembered you said your stomach's been on the fritz with all the drugs they've got you on. Sprite is supposed to be a little easier on the stomach than other sodas, so I picked some up when I went to the store earlier."

John stared at the can, mesmerized at how much like the dad of his childhood this man had become. Part of him wanted to smile, but he was too numb and empty at the moment, waiting for the other shoe to fall. He wanted to believe this was real but every part of him told him he didn't deserve any of it. He opened the Sprite and took a sip, the coolness of the bubbles feeling good on his throat as it washed away the remnant taste of vomit. He could feel his father's eyes on him. "Sorry . . . I don't know what happened. I'm not usually so . . . emotional. Must be the drugs." He had no idea what had led to the meltdown, but he wasn't admitting that to his father.

Joe sat down across from his son. "Have you ever talked to anyone about all of this?"

"It won't change anything." John had heard this stuff before, from Elizabeth and Carson at times, and he didn't want to listen to it now.

"I know, but sometimes it can help to get another point of view, make you think of things you hadn't before. Sometimes just hearing yourself talk about it out loud makes it make more sense."

They sat in uncomfortable silence for several minutes, until Joe finally sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. John noticed and realized for the first time where he'd picked up the habitual movement from. Thinking back, he had no idea when he'd started doing it, but he could remember seeing his father do it almost his whole life. He looked at the weary face of the man across the table, a man he barely knew any more, and yet a man he loved deeply.

"I'll . . . I'll think about it," John said softly and without much conviction, but it was the best he could do at the moment. His father seemed to understand.

"Good enough. I'll get dinner."

oOo

John struggled against the bindings holding his arms, surprised when they wrenched free rather quickly. He lay quietly for a few moments, his heart racing in his chest as he tried to see through the darkness. The softness underneath confused him further, along with the normal smell. The floor should be cold and hard, the odor that of mildew and sweat and urine. His eyes adjusted enough to reveal the bedroom about the time his brain caught up with his present location. He let out a deep, shuddering breath. He was on Earth, at his father's house, not waking up in the camp of the Natayans.

He stared at curtains, now able to see the moonlight peeking around the edge and slightly illuminating a small section of the room. He hadn't been able to see anything when he'd first woken in the Natayan cell. It had taken him a few minutes to realize fully his situation. His hands had been tied tightly behind him, his feet bound at the ankles. They had removed everything but his BDU pants and light t-shirt, leaving him shivering in the damp prison. He was blindfolded and gagged, unable to see, talk, or move. They had left him like that for hours, possibly as long as a day. Time had been hard to judge, but it had seemed like forever.

When two men finally came to retrieve him, they had untied him and jerked him to his feet. The pain in his arms and legs as circulation was restored had been debilitating, forcing the guards to drag him to the interrogation room. There, they had tied him to a chair, still blindfolded and gagged, leaving him sitting in silence for several more hours. He'd been so thirsty that his dry mouth had been more miserable than his bruised and restrained limbs. At some point, he dozed off or passed out, only to be awakened by a sharp blow to his face.

They hadn't talked at first, just walked around and around him, occasionally striking him or kicking him. After an hour or two of periodic hits, they left him alone again. The next time he woke up, it was to a bucket of cold water being dumped on his head. The worst part was the frustration at having all that water around when you were dying of thirst, but being unable to drink any. He had to settle for sucking some moisture out of the dirty cloth of the gag. He could hear several men laughing at his desperation.

Finally, the blindfold and gag were removed. He couldn't see anything but blurry, bulky shapes for several minutes. When the men stopped laughing, one of them brought a ladle of water over and let him drink a few sips before purposely spilling the rest down the front of his shirt. He didn't care. The water was heavenly, even if it wasn't nearly enough. And then the real beatings has started, along with the questions he had no intention of answering.

John let his eyes drift over to the red display of the digital clock on the nightstand. It was 4:42 a.m. The night had been restless and exhausting, leaving John almost relieved at the fact that it was almost over. He let his head roll back on the pillow and stared at the window again, at the light around the edges that enabled him to see where he was and that it wasn't a cold, damp cell, waiting on the next torture session.

oOo

Joe sat at the table, reading the newspaper and drinking his morning coffee. It was only six in the morning, but he was used to getting up early. Supper the night before had been quiet and strained, leading to an evening of watching movies that had been just as uncomfortable. He was beginning to grasp how seriously overstressed his son was and he was becoming more and more worried. He'd only heard a fraction of what had happened to John in the last few years and it was already more than the average person could handle.

He knew John hadn't slept well and he was pretty sure he heard him puking in the middle of the night. Joe had resisted the urge to run to his son's side and had settled on lurking in the doorway of his room to make sure John got back to bed okay. He'd checked on his son twice more by listening at the bedroom door, only to hear John tossing and moaning in his sleep. But John had made it plain that he didn't want his father fussing over him, so Joe had bit his tongue and left him alone.

The sound of shuffling feet drew his attention and he looked up as John limped into the room. He managed to stifle the wince at his son's haggard appearance. "There's coffee," he said simply, resisting the urge to jump up and pour the kid a cup. Joe was military. He could be tough.

John nodded and crept over to the pot to pour coffee into the cup sitting on the counter. He then slowly made his way over to the table to sit down. Joe didn't ask about the missing sling this time. He watched John sip the coffee from his peripheral vision. John was pale and somehow looked thinner than yesterday, although he was pretty sure that was paranoid parent worry and not real. The boy looked sick, pure and simple. _Don't ask, don't ask, _he told himself. But it was out of his mouth before he knew what had happened.

"You feel okay?" Dang!

"Fine."

Well, at least he didn't get a fireworks display. "Hungry?"

"Not really."

_I'm going to regret this, but here goes anyway. _"John, I really think you need to eat." John just grunted. "I know a place that makes great waffles. They bring them to the table still hot, with the butter melting as they put it on the table."

John looked up at him and it seemed to take entirely too much effort. Maybe he shouldn't drag the kid out to eat. He looked so tired.

"I like waffles," John said quietly, almost to himself. "We get them on Atlantis . . . but they're always cold and tough."

"If you feel up to it, we'll go get some." He had known John liked waffles when he made the suggestion and he really wanted the boy to eat. Joe didn't even have a waffle maker any more. He got rid of it because he never could make any worth eating and it seemed like a big waste of space.

"Okay," John said simply.

Joe nodded and smiled. "Take your time though, finish your coffee if you want. One thing about being retired is you don't have to rush."

They quietly finished their coffee before John limped slowly back to his room to get dressed. He'd just finished and was reaching for his cell phone when it went off. Picking it up from the side table, he smiled tiredly at the name that appeared.

"Hey, Rodney," he said as he sat on the edge of the made bed trying to make his voice lighter than he felt. "How's the visit with Jeannie going?"

"_Just lovely. I got to help wash dishes last night. I can hardly stand the excitement." _Sarcasm was always at its finest when it was being delivered by Rodney.

"They made you wash dishes in a cast?"

"_Okay, I didn't wash, I helped dry and put away. Technicality. And for some reason, her little rugrat has attached herself to my leg. I barely got a minute free to call without having to drag the leg-leech with me."_

John closed his eyes as he listened, imagining for a moment that they were both back in Atlantis talking over the comms. It hit him just how much he missed Rodney, how much he'd become family. He pulled himself back to the conversation. "Face it, McKay, kids like you for some reason that defies all logic and understanding."

"_It doesn't defy logic. They specialize in annoying the heck out of people and they know their presence annoys me. They're a lot smarter than they let on."_

John rolled his eyes and deadpanned, "Yes, Rodney, they're all evil geniuses determined to get on your last nerve."

"_Funny. You know what I had for breakfast . . . again? Fruit loops. The breakfast choice around here is Fruit Loops or Captain Crunch. I never thought I'd say this, but I miss the mess hall."_

John's mouth curved up in a smile as he felt some of his bundled muscles unwind a bit. "Dad is about to take me to some place that makes great waffles."

"_Rub it in, Colonel. Can I come eat with you?"_

"Sure, but we might be done by the time you get here. Look, you just have to know how to work this to your advantage. Offer to help out by doing some of the shopping. That will get you out of the house for a while by yourself and while you're at the store, pick up some stuff you like to eat. You get some Rodney time and your sister thinks you're all wonderful and helpful. Win, win solution."

"_That's brilliant… on second thought, why didn't I think of that? Oh God I'm really losing it aren't I?" _said Rodney incredulously

"I'm going to remember you said that," John quipped. "You just have to know how to work people."

"_Whatever. Wait. So, do you manipulate us back on Atlantis like this? And by us, I mean me."_

"I'm shocked you would even ask such a question." John had to grin at the mental image of Rodney, pouting and insulted. He wondered if the scientist had any idea of how much he'd needed this.

"_I repeat . . . whatever. So . . . how's it going with your dad? Are you staying with him or are you homeless?"_

John took in a deep breath. "Good, actually. Much better than I expected. I know I haven't said much about my father, but . . . we haven't really been close in a long time. Rodney . . . he apologized to me before I could get out two sentences. He's been trying to find me for the last year and when no one would tell him anything . . . "

"_He thought you were dead," _Rodney said quietly.

"Yeah. Anyway . . . we're talking and . . . I'm glad I came."

The other end of the phone was silent for a few moments before Rodney replied. _"Yeah, I am too. Guess maybe Elizabeth knew what she was doing."_

"I guess so. Should we tell her?"

"_Heck, no! We tell her how miserable we were and hope that gets us a sympathy credit for the next time we blow up most of a solar system."_

"What's this _we_ stuff? I've screwed up plenty, but I haven't blown up any solar systems yet." His voice sobered as the images of death and blood began to once again play in his mind.

"_You okay? You sound tired."_

"Just healing, McKay. You know how it is. Look, Dad's waiting for me, so I need to go."

"_I know, just . . . take care of yourself, okay? You don't have me and Ronon and Teyla to keep an eye on you and make sure you're eating and stuff. And stay out of trouble."_

John winced at the comment about staying out of trouble. "You fret like an old woman, McKay. I have a doctor's appointment this afternoon that Dr. Lam made for me and Dad's doing a pretty good job of doting, so I'm good. Almost like being back in Atlantis." But he appreciated the fact that Rodney was concerned and the mention of the way his team kept watch over him when he was healing made him smile again. He mentally kicked himself. Where had the positive person harassed for being too optimistic gone? Another reminder of how he needed to pull himself together.

"_Well, listen to the doctor and to your dad, then."_ John heard a high pitched squeal in the background. _"Ah, geez, the rugrat found me. Okay, go eat your waffles and think of me and my Fruit Loops." _

The line went dead and John suddenly felt very alone. He closed the phone and continued to sit on the bed for several moments. His stomach rumbled, bringing him out of his fog. He stood and began limping out of the bedroom. "Okay, Dad, I'm ready and I'm hungry."

oOo

John looked up at the sign as they pulled into the parking lot. "Wong Wei Café? You're kidding, right?"

Joe chuckled, pulling into an open spot near the door. "No, it's no joke. Wong came to this country when he was a child and he's had this café for several years. They have the best breakfast you can get for a really good price."

"I'm guessing he gets called Wrong Way Café a lot."

Joe grimaced and nodded. "He's had to replace his sign twice. Darn kids."

They got out of the car and entered the restaurant, which was moderately full. A girl with bright red hair and a big smile greeted them as they entered. "Colonel Sheppard, will you be joining your friends today? And who is this?"

Joe smiled at the young girl, noting how she was sizing up John. "This is my son. Lt. Colonel Sheppard. Who else is here?"

"Colonels Shetfield, Brentwood, and Ziegler. They've been here about ten minutes."

Joe turned to John. "Some of us old retirees get together and eat breakfast every once in a while. What do you think?"

John smiled. "I say yes. Maybe I can get some good stories on you."

"Not a chance," said Joe lightly as he turned back to the girl. "Okay, Kelly, looks like we'll be joining the crew."

The young girl nodded and grabbed two menus from a pile. "Ok then, right this way."

They followed her to the back area of the restaurant where three older men sat around a table for six, sipping coffee. Kelly set the menus on the table. "I had a feeling you might be here, so I gave them a bigger table. Could I get the Sheppard men something to drink?"

"Coffee," thy said together.

Kelly grinned. "I don't know why I even ask anymore. Be right back."

John could feel the eyes of the three men on him as he carefully sat down. When Joe was seated, he motioned toward John.

"This is my son, John. He's a Lt. Colonel in the Air Force and he's also the military commander of a base doing classified research." No one at the table missed the pride in Joe's voice, including John. His heart felt like it was beating too loudly in his chest again. Shades of yesterday at the school rose in this throat and he swallowed, hoping he wasn't going to need to make yet another embarrassing exit.

The man sitting across from Joe was a large man, tall with a large frame. His brown hair was speckled with gray, as were his eyebrows and beard. He studied John for a few moments before smiling. "I think we just got a _proud daddy _moment out of Joe Sheppard." He leaned across the table to shake John's hand. "I'm Dave Brentwood, U.S. Air Force, retired."

The black man sitting next to him grinned. "Joe . . . is that really John?"

Joe nodded and turned to John, opening his mouth to speak, but stopping when John surged ahead.

"I know you . . . Morgan . . . Major . . . uh, Colonel Shetfield, right?"

The man nodded. "You remember me... The last time I saw you, you were like eleven or twelve. You're definitely taller now. Still like helicopters?"

John grinned. "You bet. Still one of my favorite things to fly." He'd never officially decided if he liked helicopters or puddle jumpers better. If they ever had some serious down time, he was planning on bribing Rodney and Radek into designing him a combo deal. He had no idea if that was possible, but it sounded sweet.

The third man, sitting on the other side of Joe, leaned forward so he could see John. "I'm Harry Ziegler, U.S. Marines, retired. Nice to finally see Old Sheppard's kid."

"Hey, who you calling old?" asked Joe, feigning indignation.

Kelly returned with their coffee and refilled the cups of the others. "So, does everyone want their regular or are you feeling like something different this morning?"

"Well, I think I want the Waffle Plate with bacon," said Joe and then looked over at John. "What about you, son?"

"Waffles sound good."

Kelly nodded, smiling down at him. "Would you like sausage or bacon with that?"

John's stomach lurched at the thought of either. Anything greasy was not going to sit well, he could tell. "Neither. Just the waffles please."

Brentwood grinned up at Kelly. "You know, I haven't had waffles in ages, I'll have one with sausage."

The other two ordered their regular meal and Kelly nodded. "I'll get these turned in and have your food back in no time. Don't give the Lt. Colonel too hard a time." She leaned down close to John's ear. "They're harmless, but don't tell them that."

John grinned as she winked at the older men and took off with her coffee pot toward the kitchen. He looked around at his father. "You eat here often enough they know your name and you have a regular meal? Exactly how often is this?"

Joe shrugged his shoulders as the other men snickered. "It varies . . . you know . . . maybe two or three . . . or sometimes four days a week. Hey, I'm retired. What the heck else do I have to do?"

John let out a deep breath. He would never have guessed his father to be sitting around drinking coffee with a bunch of other retired soldiers in his later years. But his father had changed over the years, a lot. He smiled, momentarily imagining what it might be like if he and the rest of his team lived long enough to do this.

"Now don't go thinking I'm getting soft," said Joe a little defensively. "Despite what you've seen so far, I don't spend all my time sitting around watching TV and going out to eat. We're all part of a group that plots out military exercises and then field tests them . . . well, as much as we can. Some of our plans actually get used in training exercises."

John's eyes widened as he looked around the table. The men before him were all still fit and in excellent condition. That was probably one reason they stayed that way. They had found a way to keep their minds and bodies active and engaged. "Cool. Maybe you could share a few with me before I go back. I definitely need to keep my people on their toes."

"I think we can arrange that," said Joe proudly.

"John, I have a question for you, if you don't mind," said Brentwood. His eyes sparkled in a mischievous way. "There's this rumor going around that some hot shot helicopter pilot based in McMurdo was running a taxi service for a certain general and they got some kind of weapon fired at them. Word is that this pilot outmaneuvered the missile with just about the fanciest flying this general had ever seen."

John looked at his coffee, trying to hide the smile threatening to form. "Nice story. Any idea who this pilot is?"

"There's a lot of speculation and several names have been suggested. But my son, who is also in the Air Force, thinks the most likely pilot was John Sheppard. He claims to have seen him fly in Afghanistan and says he's the best chopper pilot he's ever seen. Care to comment on the validity of the story."

John looked up sheepishly to the men staring at him. He expected it to be uncomfortable, but somehow it wasn't. There was a genuine curiosity in their expression and maybe just a little bit of hope. They wanted it to be him. He mentally ran through the situation and decided it couldn't hurt to admit to the part they already knew. Someone had obviously leaked part of the story for them to know this much. John sighed and bobbed his head to the side once. "Okay, yeah, it was me."

The ensuing mass of talk and laughter and questions filled him with a sense of pride, washing away, at least for a while, the worthlessness that had overwhelmed him earlier. Joe was beaming and nodding and smiling at just about everything said.

"I knew that boy had a feel for choppers that very first time I took him up," said Shetfield, beaming as if he were his father.

Dave seemed especially proud of himself. "I knew it! From what Clay told me, this mysterious pilot dropped off the radar about the same time you just disappeared in a cloud of _that's classified._ And General O'Neill has been doing nothing but classified stuff for years. I don't suppose you could give us any hints, could you?"

John shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not."

"Are you going back to . . . wherever it is that you're stationed?" asked Ziegler.

"Absolutely," said John. "We still have a lot to do."

The food arrived a few moments later. When the three retired officers tired of asking John for hints between bites, they resorted to telling old war stories. Some were ridiculously funny, leading John to wonder if they had really occurred. Some tales were sad, tugging at the emotions. When the atmosphere began to falter, someone would pull out one of their humorous descriptions and get everyone laughing again.

John began to realize a few things as he listened to the men. They had all lost people. Sometimes it was a friend, sometimes a resident of the area, sometimes a fellow soldier they didn't particularly know well. But they all had people they regretted not saving and they all carried around a certain amount of guilt over it. And they had all learned to live with it.

The revelation didn't absolve John of his responsibility or relieve him of the magnitude of his blunders, but it did make him feel a little lighter to know that he wasn't the only one who felt the things that he did. As he swirled the last bite of waffle around in the syrup, he smiled to himself. He was glad he had come back to Earth and he was glad to be here with his father and his friends. He didn't have his act together yet, but he was working on it and he was beginning to feel once again like maybe he could do it.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**Note: **Before you read the first part of this chapter, let me remind you I am NOT in the medical field. If you are and you see any major mistakes, please let me know so I can fix them. Thanks guys!!!!!

**Going Home - Chapter 7**

John followed the nurse into the exam room, noting the gown and sheet already laid out on the exam table. The tall blonde, her long hair in a braid, nodded toward the bed.

"How about taking a seat and I'll get your blood pressure." John eased himself up on the side of the bed as she grabbed the blood pressure cuff from the counter. He sat quietly while she took and recorded his pressure, pulse, and temperature.

"Okay, Colonel, if you'll just slip out of your shirt and pants and into the gown, Dr. Shoemaker will be with you shortly. Do you need any help?"

John fingered the edge of the blue gown. "No, I can get it. I thought he was just looking at my shoulder and ribs."

The nurse smiled warmly. "No, he needs to check on your leg wound as well. Dr. Lam said you'd had a nasty infection there for a while and wanted him to be sure everything still looked alright."

"Oh, okay." John hated being sick or injured. Being poked and prodded was barely bearable when you knew the medical staff, but just weirded him out when it was complete strangers. That was one thing that had always bothered him about the constant moving around required by a career in the military.

The nurse seemed to sense his discomfort. "Dr. Shoemaker served over a year in Iraq treating our guys, so he has lots of field experience. He's really very good. You can talk to him about any concerns you have and he'll give you an honest answer. I think you'll like him."

John brought his eyes up slowly to meet hers. "Am I that obvious?"

"You just seem a bit uncomfortable. Was that your father with you, in the waiting room?"

John nodded. "Yes, I'm staying with him for a few days before I go back. I just think all of this was unnecessary. I can make it a few days without being under some doctor's thumb." John shook his head. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that like it sounded. I'll be fine."

"It's okay, I think I know what you mean. We'll give you a few minutes to get changed." She nodded one more time and then closed the door. John sighed and began removing his sling. _Way to make a good first impression, John._

Several minutes later, he worked himself back to sit on the edge of the exam table, his shirt and pants folded up in the chair next to the wall and his shoes underneath. At least he still had his boxers on. The room was chilly, so he opened the sheet as best he could with one hand and spread it over his legs.

A few minutes later, he was getting tired and his arms had goosebumps. After breakfast, he'd had his father drive him to the beach and they had taken a short walk. He'd enjoyed watching the surfers and wished fervently he had been out there with them. By the time they got back home, they barely had time for a sandwich before heading to the appointment. John hadn't been hungry after the waffles, so he'd only eaten half a sandwich, much to his father's disappointment. He was thankful he'd kept lunch light since it had settled like a boulder in his stomach.

John finally eased himself to lie down against the pillow, working the sheet up over his arms. He really wanted to get this over with. He closed his eyes, thinking about how much he was starting to miss Atlantis. When it was still and quiet, like now, he was almost painfully aware of the missing hum in the back of his mind, of the presence that seemed to be with him every minute of the day. It was a very lonely feeling and he realized he never wanted to come back to Earth permanently. It was like he'd left a big part of himself in another galaxy.

"Colonel Sheppard?"

John opened his eyes to find the blonde nurse and a man about his age with short, brown hair and wire-rimmed glasses looking down at him and smiling. He suddenly realized he must have dozed off.

"Yeah, uh, sorry."

The nurse smiled and patted his arm. "It's okay, I can't blame you. We had a little hold up and it took longer that we expected."

John noticed her nametag for the first time. Nancy. "No problem. It's not like I have a heavy schedule or anything." He started to sit up, but the doctor placed a hand firmly on his good shoulder, stopping him.

"You can just stay put for a few minutes and I'll check your leg and ribs first. I received some records for your current injuries from Dr. Lam and I've reviewed them, along her specific requests. Have you had any problems since seeing her?"

John hesitated, rubbing his face with his good hand. He dreaded telling about the incident at the high school, but he knew his dad would check to make sure he had. He let his hand drop to his side. "Well . . . there was one little thing." He gave a brief account of the skirmish that had taken place the day before as the doctor listened carefully and made a few notes in his file.

"Have you had any pain that seemed unusual or worse than what you were having?" the physician asked, his expression more serious than John liked.

"No, not really. I think I may have picked up an extra bruise or two, but that's it."

The doctor nodded and made notes again before looking back to his patient. "What about nausea or vomiting?"

John paused and the doctor sighed. "Okay, I'll take that as a yes. Have you vomited and how many times?"

John let out a long breath. "Twice, but I think it had more to do with nightmares than physical injury. I had breakfast and lunch today and did okay."

The doctor nodded, looking a little relieved. "I'll just double check that you aren't showing any signs of further injury. Anything else? Have you been feeling feverish or anything?"

"No, nothing like that."

"Good. Have you been taking the antibiotic?"

John nodded. "Yeah, I think I take my last pill tonight."

The doctor scanned the file in front of him, shuffling through the papers a minute. "Okay, yes, that should be right. What about headaches, dizzy spells, any blackouts?"

"I still get headaches, but not too bad. Sometimes I get dizzy for a few seconds when I first stand up, but it clears up pretty quickly."

"That could be partly from the medication or the fact that you've still got a lot of healing to do. You're body is still under quite a strain. Okay, let's just have a look at you then. I think I'll start with the leg. Any problems there?"

"No, just still kind of sore."

The doctor pulled the sheet and gown away from his thigh, exposing a fresh, pink scar from the bullet wound and another from the surgery that followed. John forced himself to relax as the doctor began to probe the area.

"This looks good, no sign of recurring infection. Looks like your little tussle didn't reopen anything, although I do think I see some new bruising." He pulled the gown back over the leg and then replaced the sheet. John relaxed a little. Even though the skin of his leg was healed, the surrounding area still seemed tender to the touch, he supposed because of the underlying muscle damage.

John tried to distract himself with thoughts of what else he wanted to do while he was home while the doctor probed his ribs and abdomen, occasionally asking questions about the level of pain or discomfort. It felt like it took forever and he knew the doctor was taking extra care because of the fight. He found himself relieved when Dr. Shoemaker announced that he'd found no new breaks or any sign of internal bleeding.

"I think I'd still like to get an x-ray to compare to your old one, just to be sure I didn't miss anything." He made a few more notations and then set the file down. "Okay, let's sit you up so I can have a look at that shoulder."

John was silently grateful for the help as both the doctor and nurse each eased a hand beneath his back and helped him sit up. Most of his torso was on fire from the exam and he wasn't entirely sure he could have made the move unaided. Nancy then helped as he twisted around to hang his legs off the side of the table.

"Thanks for the assist," he said, giving her his lop-sided grin. "If you ever get tired of working here, I know a place that could use your smile."

Nancy just smirked and pursed her lips slightly. "Are you flirting with me?"

"I would never do such a thing," he said lightly, all the time hearing Rodney's chastising voice in his head.

"Too bad," she said slyly, waggling her eyebrows at him.

Dr. Shoemaker cleared his throat, his expression a little stern, but his eyes giving him away. "If you two are done now, I'd like to finish our exam so we can get the Colonel to x-ray. You can trade phone numbers later."

John and Nancy both chuckled as Dr. Shoemaker began pulling the gown down and away from John's left shoulder.

oOo

"Colonel Sheppard?"

Joe looked up to see the blonde nurse that had called for John over an hour ago. He stood as she reached him, worry beginning to trickle through him. "Is John all right?"

"Yes, he's fine," she said, the gentle nature of her voice putting him at ease. "He sent me to see if you wanted to join him in Dr. Shoemaker's office. He thought it might put your mind at ease if you heard what the doctor had to say."

Joe nodded as he finished relaxing. "Yes, thank you, I'd like that." He followed the girl through a set of double doors and down a couple of hallways, before being ushered into an office. An L-shaped bookcase was in the corner behind a large, neatly organized desk. Two cushioned chairs sat on the opposite side of the furniture with a small wooden table between them.

"You can wait here. Lt. Colonel Sheppard will be along as soon as he finishes getting dressed and Dr. Shoemaker will be here shortly." She nodded toward the chairs and then left. Joe went to the second chair and sat down. He'd just begun scanning the titles of the many books on the shelves when a man in a while coat entered the room.

"Hello, Colonel, I'm Dr. Shoemaker," he said, holding out his hand. "I see Nancy found you all right."

Joe shook the man's hand and nodded. "Yes, she did. I appreciate you letting me sit in like this. Sometimes John can be . . . a little hesitant to tell me everything that's wrong."

Dr. Shoemaker smiled. "I probably shouldn't tell you this, but there's a note in his file that says pretty much the same thing. That's one reason why I backed up the exam I did with x-rays."

John limped into the room just as the two men were taking a seat. "Talking about me behind my back, I see. That's so not fair."

"That's more or less your fault," said Joe.

John eased himself into the chair, wincing as he moved. When he was seated, he relaxed into the chair, letting out a slow breath as he did. Joe frowned slightly, recognizing the signs of pain and exhaustion his son was beginning to exhibit. He realized they had been on the go since early that morning.

"Okay, Colonel, basically everything looks good. No signs of infection and the injuries seem to be healing as expected. Dr. Lam expressed some concern about a few of the more severe burns, but the inflammation appears to have cleared up quite a bit since her observations were made. And the only thing I see as a result of your little impromptu wrestling match is a few new bruises and possibly a slight reopening of one of your rib fractures. It's a faint difference between now and the old x-ray, so I can't even be sure of that. Your shoulder looks good and you seem to be getting a little better mobility. Once you get back and get into a physical therapy program, that should improve greatly. You need to continue to take it easy and avoid any more strenuous activity, like fights." Shoemaker winked at Joe, who grinned and nodded his approval.

John winced. "Yeah, I'll try to do that."

The doctor sobered as he studied John critically. "You do need to rest and eat more. You've actually dropped a few ounces from your last exam and I know you're tired." He smiled slowly. "The little nap in the exam room tells me that. If you need help sleeping, I can prescribe something. Your file indicates you were having a problem with nightmares and it seems you still are. We have people you can talk to, as well, if you want me to set something up."

"No, I'm good. If I'm still having trouble when I go back, I'll talk to our doctor."

The doctor nodded. "Let me know if you have any problems, any increase in the headaches, dizziness, or pain levels. I also want to know if the vomiting continues. You don't need to lose any more weight and you're borderline anemic now."

John suddenly felt thin and frail as he looked down at the way his clothes hung on him. He'd had to cinch his belt up an extra couple of notches since getting out of the infirmary and it bugged him to no end. It was going to take a lot of work to build back the muscle he'd lost. He almost smiled at the thought of Ronon being his taskmaster, telling him to quit whining and run. He knew it would be hard and painful and yet he looked forward to it because he knew it would bring him back to where he needed to be.

"John?"

Images of Atlantis faded and John looked around at his dad. "What?" The doctor was also looking at him peculiarly. "Uh, sorry. Let my mind wander for a minute." He smiled sheepishly and looked down at his fingers picking at the sling.

Dr. Shoemaker stood. "You have my number. Please call if you need anything or you have any questions. And Colonel Sheppard, you need to go home and rest. Doctor's orders," he said as he smiled.

"I'll take care of that," said Joe as he also stood and then reached out to help John. John stubbornly ignored the hand and pushed himself up to join the others in standing. "Thank you, doctor," Joe said as he turned back to face Dr. Shoemaker, once again shaking the man's hand.

"Thanks, Doc," said John, reaching out to grip the physician's hand. "Don't worry, I don't plan on doing much more than eat, sleep, and watch a little TV."

"Couldn't have suggested a better schedule myself," quipped the doctor. "Seriously, take care of yourself." He nodded down to the file on his desk. "I get the impression you've got some people that care what happens to you."

John grinned, the strange tingle in his chest surprising him. "I do."

oOo

John sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his head and trying to lick his dry lips with a tongue that felt covered in fuzz. His head felt strange and his body disconnected. After a few minutes, the need to visit the bathroom overrode the lethargy in his limbs and he forced himself to stand. He swayed a bit, but the room never really did the spinning thing he had come to expect and that made him smile. Things were looking up.

He almost changed his mind when he started moving across the room. Stiff, sore muscles and new bruises all cried out for attention as he stumbled forward. But by the time he emerged from the bathroom, the stiffness was abating and the bruises were beginning to calm down and his hope was renewed. It hadn't seemed to take as long to get loosened up as before.

He shuffled through the living room on his way to the kitchen, still not feeling fully awake. His father sat on the couch, the recliner seat leaned back. The TV was on, but Joe's eyes were closed and his mouth open slightly. John smiled, noting that he wasn't the only one who had needed a nap after their day of running around. He finished his slow limp to the kitchen and decided they could both use a cup of coffee. John sat at the table and looked at the newspaper while the coffee brewed, enjoying the smell as he listened to the muffled gurgling noises. When it was finished, he poured them both a cup and headed for the living room..

Joe was lowering the recliner when John entered the room with the steaming cups, setting one on the coffee table in front of his father. Joe sniffed and grinned. "I knew I smelled coffee. You read the old man's mind."

John transferred the cup in his left hand to his right so he could maneuver better to set it down. His injured arm had barely been able to support the weight. "I guess in this case it was like father, like son," John proclaimed proudly, broadening the smile on his father's face. They both looked up at the sound of someone knocking.

"I can get it," offered John, since he was still standing. Making his way carefully over to the door, he pulled it open to find a woman slightly shorter than himself, with short brown hair and dark brown eyes and a big smile. She was wearing kaki capris and a blue t-shirt that proclaimed "Be nice to nurses, you never know when you'll need them". A pie loosely covered with plastic wrap was in her hands.

"Hi, I'm Mary Cravens from across the street. Is Joe here?"

John stepped back to allow the woman in about the same time his father called, "Mary, come on in here!"

John noticed his father was getting to his feet as Mary stepped in and held the pie up. "Guess what I've been doing?" she sing-songed.

Joe's eyes lit up like Christmas lights. "Chocolate?"

Mary nodded as she automatically headed for the kitchen. "Yep. You know when I make my chocolate pie, I always make one for you. I can't miss out on all those flattering things you say when I bring it over." She set the pie on the table and turned to face Joe and John, who had followed her into the room.

Joe nodded toward John. "Mary, this is my son John. He's got some leave time from the Air Force, so he's staying with me a few days. John, this is Mary Cravens, the maker of the absolute world's best chocolate pie."

Mary grinned. "There's that flattery I came for." She looked John up and down and John thought he detected a hint of worry, making him realize how much he was slouching. He straightened up a bit, trying to shake the lingering grogginess.

"Nice to meet you, Mary. If you've got Dad wowing over your pie, then I can't wait to try it."

Joe smiled and nodded. "You'll want to eat the whole thing. Hey, Mary, we just made some fresh coffee. How about joining us for a cup."

Mary lifted her nose up as if smelling the air and let out a long sigh. "Hmmm, I thought I smelled fresh coffee. You know I can't resist that." When Joe headed for the pot, she waved him away. "You sit down and let me help myself. Don't be treating me like company, Joe Sheppard."

John watched her go directly to the right cupboard and pull down a cup. "Uh, I'll go get our cups from the living room."

Joe shook his head and took John by his good arm, giving him a slight push toward the table. "No, go sit and I'll get them. You made the stuff and brought me a cup and you're the one supposed to be resting. Now sit." Without waiting on a reply, Joe disappeared into the living room.

By the time John was sitting, his dad had returned with the two cups of coffee and joined him at the table. Mary sat down next to him and breathed in heavily as she held the cup up to her face. John smiled, thinking of the way Rodney had acted when they had finally reestablished contact with Earth and received fresh coffee supplies. For the next week, Rodney would sit inhaling the vapors for several minutes each time he poured a new cup.

"What?" asked Mary, frowning playfully at him.

"Nothing," John said sheepishly. "You just reminded me of someone else who really enjoys their coffee."

"Hey, it's the most important food group."

John and Joe laughed, but both of them also nodded. No arguments there. John knew there had been times when its consumption kept them going through some very intense days. "Coffee and adrenalin, what would we do without them?" he murmured.

Mary set her cup down and looked across the small table at Joe. "I'm so glad you found him. Jack and I were worried about you." She patted Joe's hand a few times before pulling her hand back to her mug.

Joe let his head fall forward for a few seconds before lifting it to look at John and then at Mary. "Thank you. He just . . . showed up on my doorstep a few days ago, like he'd been reading my mind." He smiled at John. "Looks like I'm getting that second chance I was wishing for."

"Okay, I have a confession," said Mary. "I saw him arrive the other day, all dressed in his uniform and everything. I've been dying to know if it was your son or if you were just taking in strays."

John choked on the coffee he'd been sipping and coughed for what seemed like forever before he got it under control. "Dad . . . taking in strays?"

Mary frowned and shrugged her shoulders. "Okay, so I didn't necessarily think that was happening. Hey, I made pie. Give me a break."

Joe looked at the pie in the center of the table. "You know, maybe we should try the pie, just to make sure it's okay."

John nodded and grinned. "I think that's an excellent idea."

Mary pulled the pie a little closer to her. "And have you boys had supper?"

Joe and John looked guiltily at one another and then back at Mary. "Okay, maybe just a small piece," said Joe. "You know, just a taste."

Mary looked at them a few seconds and then sighed. "I'll get the plates."

oOo

"Mary's really nice," said John, leaning the recliner back and moaning slightly as he stretched out and relaxed. "She makes a heck of a chocolate pie, too."

Joe grunted in agreement as he picked up the TV controls and turned the set on. "Have to agree with you there. Guess you figured out she's a nurse, an RN at the base hospital. Her husband, Jack, does some kind of consulting stuff for the Air Force, although I never completely understood what. Something with computers. They moved in about three years ago and they've been really good neighbors." Joe chuckled. "I thought she would nurse me to death when I was going through my cancer treatments. They're . . . they're good people."

John nodded. "Guess maybe I need to thank her for looking out for you then. Having friends and . . . just having people that care for you when you're down . . . it can make all the difference." John felt a sharp pang of homesickness when he thought of his team sitting by his bedside, keeping vigil when he needed their strength. Sometimes putting a little distance between you and what was important made you appreciate it so much more.

"I know," Joe said quietly.

"Don't say it," said John when he saw Joe looking his way, regret almost radiating off him. "We've been there and talked about it. We're done with that part . . . the apologizing and stuff."

Joe took a deep breath and looked for a moment like he might argue, but finally nodded. "Okay, you're right. I'm . . . I'm just glad you found friends . . . . you know, people to help you through the rough patches."

John smiled as he looked back to the TV screen. "Me too. Okay, what's on TV?"

Joe reached over and picked up a second controller. "Tonight, I have a special treat. A friend of mine has a son that's a football coach and he records all kinds of college and pro games to look for things he can show his kids. I borrowed some of his DVDs of especially good games over the past couple of years. You interested?"

John's eyes widened and a big grin broke out, spreading across his face. "Football? You bet."

"Like I said, some things never change," said Joe as he hit the play button.

oOo

John sat up abruptly, panting and shivering as the cool air brushed his sweaty skin. His eyes darted around the dark room for several moments before the moonlight revealed enough of the room for him to realize where he was. He let out a deep breath through his mouth, telling himself to calm down, that he was safe.

"John, you okay, son?"

John shifted his gaze to the partially open door, his father standing on the threshold as the shaft of light from the window illuminated the left side of his face, leaving the right side in shadows. He could see the man's brow was furrowed, his jaw taunt with worry.

"I'm okay, Dad. Just a nightmare." John was dismayed at the slight tremble to his voice, revealing his deceit.

Joe paused in the doorway, obviously uncertain of what to do. "Okay. I . . . I heard you yell and I was afraid that . . . We can talk, you know, if you want to."

John swallowed. A tiny part of him wanted his father to stay with him, at least for a few minutes. The part that had learned that sometimes you should be afraid of the dark. But he was an adult, not a child. And he refused to ask his father to sit with him and protect him from things that go bump in the night. "No, I'm okay, really. But . . . thanks."

John made himself lay back down, watching as his father slowly closed the door and backed into the hallway. Looking up at the ceiling, he refused to acknowledge the shadows moving across the wall. He reminded himself they were trees swaying in the wind, not Wraith stealing through the woods to take him and his team. He only wished he could make himself believe it.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

**Note: **I think I'm behind a day, and for that I apologize. If I just had a clone . . . or maybe didn't need sleep. Anyway, thanks to Jackfan2 for help with this chapter. I've incorporated some of the changes she suggested and I think the chapter is better for it.

**Going Home - Chapter 8**

John had to stop himself from letting out a sigh of relief as they walked into the house. They had gone out for a late breakfast, followed by a trip to the Air Force base that his father had arranged through one of his many friends still working there. John had been curious to see how it had changed since he left all those years ago. Of course they had run into several people Joe knew and had stopped to talk, making the little excursion take twice as long as it was supposed to. John was beat and his injuries were all beginning to throb with the overuse.

"Want a sandwich?" asked Joe, already heading for the kitchen.

"Sounds good," replied John, following his father through the living room. He'd already come to love his dad's kitchen. They had shared some good moments while sipping coffee at the table, moments he'd decided long ago would never happen. He felt almost like the last few days were a dream and he was going to wake up in the infirmary to find none of it had happened. Maybe it was the drugs making him feel that way. Maybe it was the fact that he'd giving up hope so long ago. He sat down at the table and watched his father gather sandwich meat and condiments from the refrigerator, smiling at what he was beginning to accept as real.

Food items perched carefully on his arms, Joe backed out of the refrigerator and made his way over to the table, dumping his load carefully. "Okay, we've got turkey, ham, or cajun roast beef," he stated as he looked up at John. "What?"

"Nothing," he said quietly, looking up at his father. "I was just thinking."

Joe looked at him a moment and then nodded. "I know."

A loud knock at the door startled them both. "Who could that be?" asked Joe, his brow furrowing into a frown.

"Don't look at me, it's not like I'm expecting anyone."

Joe headed out of the kitchen. "Smart ass," he called over his shoulder as he rounded the doorframe. John chuckled, amazed at how good it felt to be lightly scolded by his father after all these years. He heard his father open the door and then voices, but he was too tired and achy to get up and see what was going on. As it turned out, he didn't have to. His father returned to the room a few minutes later with a police officer following close behind. John's eyes widened momentarily at the patrolman.

The officer had dark hair, eyes, and skin, looking distinctly Latin-American. He gave John a small nod as he entered the room. "Are you Lt. Colonel John Sheppard?"

Closing his eyes for a second, John sighed and rubbed the side of his face, wondering when it would be his turn to get a break. All he had wanted to do was to see his father and try to make peace. Every time he turned around, there was some kind of interruption. "Yes, that's me."

The officer gave a small nod. "I'm sorry, sir, but I need you to come down to the station and answer some questions about the incident at the high school."

The elder Sheppard snorted and moved to stand beside his son, placing a firm hand on his good shoulder. "He's already answered questions for the police."

"It's alright Dad. I'll go."

The officer looked at the floor almost sheepishly. "I know, but the father of one of the boys has filed a complaint, and we have to investigate further. Look, I took a lot of the statements from kids in the cafeteria and they all told the same story as you did. You don't have anything to worry about. It's mostly just a formality, you know, so it doesn't look like you're getting special treatment."

Joe clenched his fist, his voice rising with his anger. "Well, maybe he should get special treatment. He's home on leave after being injured protecting his country. He's spent all of his adult life fighting for the people that are trying to persecute him now."

"Dad . . . " John drawled, not wanting this to escalate into some kind of confrontation.

"Sir, personally I agree with you. But the law is the law and it applies equally to everyone."

John managed to push himself to his feet. "Dad, it's okay. I'll just go down and answer their questions and come back home. Don't worry about it." He turned on his best smile. "Hey, at least this time I don't have to worry about being starved and tortured. Should be a piece of cake."

Joe glared darkly at the officer, who stared forlornly at the floor. "Can I drive him down to the station?"

The officer nodded, looking up again. "Yes sir. I'll just follow behind."

Joe began gathering up the food on the table and carrying it back to the refrigerator. "Right, because we're such a great flight risk. John, do you want me to make you a sandwich to take with us?"

"No thanks. I think I lost my appetite."

oOo

As they walked into the police station, John wished he had at least grabbed a couple of Tylenol before leaving the house. His head, shoulder, ribs, and leg ached in such a way he could think of little else. As they followed the officer down the hall, he noticed a large, familiar looking man approaching them. After a few steps, he realized who it was.

A scowl developed on the man's face as he looked at John and he stepped directly into his path, stopping him abruptly. "Sheppard, you're going to get what's coming to you, in spite of this pathetic attempt at playing the war hero."

John clenched his jaw, but refused to back away from the man. "I'm not playing at anything, Byers. I'm just a pilot, doing my job. But I never could stomach a bully harassing those he saw as being weak. You should have learned that about me a long time ago."

Josh Byers sneered as he leaned forward slightly, invading John's personal space. "I beat the crap out of you once before and I can sure do it again."

"After what I've seen the last few years," John said with a patronizing grin, "you can't even come close to scaring me. So, will it be four to one again this time? I have a bum shoulder and leg, so maybe you'll only need to make it three to one."

Byers smirked and moved away from John. "I guess we'll see, Sheppard. Later." He stuck his fingers out in mock gun fashion, mouthing "bang" as he walked away from John laughing.

John looked at his father, who looked like he was ready to explode. "Kolya would eat him for dinner. Heck, Teyla would eat him for dinner."

Joe sighed and closed his eyes a second as he shook his head. "Now that, I'd like to see."

John gave a small smile to his father. "Yeah . . . me too." They turned and continued down the hall, catching up to the officer waiting for them beside a door.

The officer motioned toward a bench against the wall. "Mr. Sheppard, you'll have to wait here while Colonel Sheppard is questioned."

Joe looked at the bench and then back at John. John smiled at his father and nodded toward the bench. "Go ahead, Dad, I'll be fine. Try not to get too bored. This shouldn't take long."

Hesitating a moment longer, Joe finally nodded. "Fine. I'll be here if you need anything." He walked over and took a seat on the bench as the officer led John through the doors and down another corridor. They stopped at a door, which the officer opened. John stepped into an interrogation room that looked similar to ones he'd seen on TV. A table with four chairs sat in the middle of the otherwise empty room. He bit his lip to stop himself from making a glib remark about it, not wanting to rile these guys anymore than they were.

"Have a seat, Colonel, and Detective Etheridge will be with you shortly."

With a curt nod John, out of habit, took a seat facing the door. The chairs unyielding surface made him shift uncomfortably, sharpening his regret for not having snagged some of his pain relievers before leaving home. However, knowing how the painkillers left him with less clarity of thought, he quickly reversed his thinking knowing he'd need a clear mind. Now if he could just think past the relentless throbbing.

A short, chubby man wearing a dark suit with a loud yellow shirt and a blue, pin-striped tie entered the room. His dark hair was in the process of receding and he wore a bushy mustache that was almost comical. John swallowed hard, knowing laughing at the man would not help his situation.

"Lt. Colonel John Sheppard?" the man asked as he looked at the papers in a file folder he was carrying.

"That's me," said John lightly.

"I'm Detective Etheridge and I need to ask you a few questions concerning the incident at the high school cafeteria the other day."

John nodded. "Okay, ask away, although I'm not sure how much I can add to what I've already told the police."

Etheridge narrowed his eyes as he took the seat across from John. "You just let me ask the questions and you answer them. You're in serious trouble here, Colonel. Air Force officers cannot just go around beating up civilian children in this town."

_Oh, great. I get the one cop in town with a beef against the Air Force._ John sighed and rubbed his forehead. He should have known.

"I see the statement that Officer Frazier took from you fails to tell where you are stationed. We'll need to know that in case we need to contact you."

John let his hand drop back to the table, knowing the arrogant man in front of him wasn't going to like his answer. "Like I told Officer Frazier, it's classified. I gave him a number he could call that _might _be able to get a message through to me, depending on the timing."

"That's not good enough, Colonel."

John stared at the man, wondering if perhaps the man was brain damaged, because no one was really this stupid. "Well, that's all I can tell you."

Etheridge leaned across the table, his face reddening and a vein in his temple beginning to pulsate, drawing John's attention. "Look, Sheppard," he ground out, spittle flying all over the table. "You _will _tell me where you are stationed and you'll tell me right now. You are part of an ongoing investigation and if you don't cooperate, I'll have you thrown in a cell."

John stared at the man, thinking surely this was one of his drug-induced bizarre nightmares. He shook his head to clear it and only succeeded in notching up his already escalating headache. "Look, _detective, _you need clearance as high as the stratosphere for me to answer that question and I somehow doubt that you have it. I've just been tortured for two weeks to get the information you're currently asking me for and I didn't tell them. What makes you think your getting in my face and yelling at me will get you any farther than they got?"

The man growled as he got up and paced a circle around the room. John honestly thought the man was going to give himself a stroke. "What does this have to do with the investigation into me preventing three kids beating the snot out of another kid? I fail to see how where I'm stationed will help you see that I was only defending myself."

Etheridge whirled around to glare at John. "The point is that you are not cooperating. When I ask a question, you answer it. You don't have to see the connection because you aren't the detective, I am."

John stared at Etheridge for a moment before sighing and letting his head drop forward a moment. "Let me guess. You wanted in the Air Force or some other branch of the military and they didn't take you."

And that was just the steam valve John had not wanted to let off. Etheridge hardened his glare at John and lowered his voice menacingly. "That is _none_ of your business and has nothing to do with me questioning you or your refusal to answer." There was a brief moment of silence where neither man spoke.

John just gave a short nod. "What'd you say we start all over and you ask me what happened the other day and I'll tell you. And just for the record, I have _nothing _to do with who does and does not get into the Air Force."

"Fine, but you aren't off the hook. We'll just come back to that question."

John groaned and rubbed the back of his neck, massaging the tense muscles and wishing he was in bed with some nice, pain-reducing drugs. Carson's nagging ministrations were definitely something he hadn't counted on missing on this trip, but right about now he wished the cantankerous Scotsman would bustle in the door and shoo Etheridge away with the threat of large bore needles or the like. The day dream only lasted a second and John brought his aching head back to the annoyance that was his day.

oOo

"Joe, is that you?"

Joe looked up to see a large, black man standing before him. Recognizing the man, he stood up and held out his hand. "Isaac Knighten, how are you? Haven't seen you down at the café lately. Don't they let you eat breakfast any more?"

Isaac grinned as he pumped Joe's hand. "Not so you'd notice. Seems like there's always something. What are you doing here? Not in trouble are you?"

Joe sighed and shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck. "No, but my son apparently is. He was involved in an incident at the high school the other day and one of the detectives had him brought in for some more questions. He's been in there for two hours, so things mustn't be going too well."

Isaac frowned. "I heard about that, but I didn't realize the guy was your son. Air Force Colonel? I heard he was defending a kind of geeky kid and some bullies laid into him."

Joe nodded. "Yeah. John's home on leave and he's recovering from some injuries. He was already tired when we came in and I'm a little worried about him. I don't think he's had any of his pain pills today and I know he's probably hurting. I just never thought the extra questions could take two hours. It didn't seem that serious at the time."

Isaac's frown deepened. "You don't know who the detective is, do you?"

Joe shook his head. "Not a clue. Look, I hate to ask, but could you just check on John, make sure he's okay?"

Isaac sighed. "Unfortunately, I think I know what the problem is. Don't worry, Joe. I'll take care of it," he said, clasping Joe on the shoulder.

"Thanks, Isaac. John may be grown . . . but I still worry."

Isaac laughed, a deep melodic sound. "I have two girls in their twenties and I definitely haven't finished worrying about them yet. We're always their parents, a fact they sometimes find hard to deal with."

"Sometimes I find it hard to deal with too."

Isaac laughed again and went through the door, leaving Joe behind. He made his way over to a central desk occupied by a woman in her fifties, with salt and pepper hair. "Josie, who's questioning John Sheppard and where do they have him?"

Josie rolled her eyes. "Detective Etheridge has the poor boy trapped in Room 2. They've been in there for quite a while and the poor man looked exhausted when they started. Are you going to rescue him?"

Isaac sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I wish Etheridge hadn't watched all those crime dramas as a child. The man lives in a fantasy world. Why did we hire him again?"

Josie raised her eyebrows a moment before looking down at her desk. "You know why," she muttered. "Uncle Harvey."

Isaac just snorted and looked over his shoulder at the door to Interrogation Room 2. "Yeah, I know. Let me go see if I can spring the poor guy before he snaps and breaks Etheridge's neck."

Josie cleared her throat loudly as he walked away. "You sure you want to do that?" she asked softly.

Isaac smiled to himself. _No, but it isn't fair to Sheppard. _He opened the door to see Etheridge pacing, his coat and tie thrown over the back of a chair and his shirt damp with sweat.

The man he assumed was John Sheppard sat in the chair facing him, slouched down and leaned over, his face resting on his right hand. His left arm was in a sling. His dark hair stood on end as if he'd run his good hand through it numerous times. His face was pale and lines of pain creased his forehead and circled his eyes, which seemed dull and unfocused. His voice was low and his words slow and deliberate, as if he was explaining them to a small child.

". . . around fifty times now that that information is classified. It doesn't matter how many times you ask me, I'm not going to answer. I swear, being tortured was better than this."

Isaac flinched at the last remark, but noticed that Etheridge hadn't even registered what the man had said. "Etheridge, what the crap is going on in here?" Since Isaac was the Chief of the Detectives Division, he had the authority to put a stop to what was probably a lot of nonsense.

Etheridge blanched, standing speechless for a moment before launching into his defense. "I was questioning Colonel Sheppard about the disturbance at the high school earlier this week, but he isn't being very cooperative."

John groaned and laid his head on his forearm, face down on the table. Isaac pursed his lips and crossed his arms. "Exactly what has he been uncooperative about? Did he tell you what happened at the school?"

"Oh, yes, he told me his version of what happened at the school, several times. But when I asked him where he's stationed and what kind of activity he's involved with, he just keeps saying it's classified."

Isaac blew out a deep breath, reminding himself what his doctor told him about staying calm and keeping his blood pressure down. "Did it ever occur to you that he might be telling you the truth? I'm sure it's easy enough to check."

John lifted his head so that his chin rested on his arm. "I gave him a number to call and verify what I told him."

Etheridge grunted and pointed at John. "See, how can I trust a number he gave, eh? He might have a friend waiting on the end of the line to tell me some made up story."

Isaac stared at the detective for several moments before sighing again. "Etheridge . . . just go call the number."

The chubby man huffed a moment, looking back and forth between John and Isaac before storming from the room. Isaac looked down at John. "Look, I'm sorry about that. Etheridge gets a little . . . "

"Psycho . . . nuts . . . postal . . . " John filled in.

Isaac chuckled. "Actually, I was going to say overeager, but I can see how the other terms might be more appropriate from your point of view. I haven't actually read the whole case file yet, but I have talked to some of the officers that took statements from the people in the cafeteria and I think it's safe to say you were acting in self defense."

"Josh Byers filed some kind of complaint. I think that's why I'm here."

Isaac shook his head. "Now _that _man is who I'm betting on for being psycho. I'm pretty sure he's responsible for some not-so-nice things around here, but I don't have enough evidence to prosecute. Witnesses and victims tend to get sudden amnesia as we get close to a trial, if you know what I mean."

John winced. "Yeah, I know what you mean. I had the misfortune of going to high school with him and he doesn't seem to have changed much."

Isaac frowned and sat in the chair across from John, waiting until he had eye contact. "You messed with his kid and he won't like that. You better watch your back while you're in town."

John's expression hardened. "I can take care of myself." He looked down at his sling. "Well, mostly."

"I'm serious . . . he's dangerous. He's got two guys that work with him at his garage and the three of them do a lot more than just fix cars. They make a lot of money compared to the amount of cars they fix and anyone acting against them turns up in the hospital or looking like they need to be."

John nodded. "I'll be careful. Thanks."

Etheridge came in, banging the door open noisily, causing John to wince. He looked sheepishly from John to Isaac. "I talked to someone named General O'Neill who verified that Sheppard's work is classified. He said he could get the President to call if I didn't believe him."

Widening his eyes in disbelief, Isaac looked at John. "_The _President?"

John made a face and bobbed his head to one side since he couldn't shrug his shoulders. Isaac looked back around at Etheridge. "You're done with him?"

Etheridge looked at his notes. "Well, he told me what happened in the cafeteria and why he was at the school in the first place. We talked about why he was in town and whether –"

Shaking his head, Isaac closed his eyes a second. "Let me rephrase that. You _are_ finished with him." Isaac looked up at John and gave him a small nod. "You can go. Joe is waiting on you outside and I think he's a bit worried."

John gave a small smile. "He does that." Isaac watched him stand, leaning forward on the table as he swayed and squeezing his eyes shut in a pained grimace.

"You okay?"

John opened his eyes and looked at Isaac. "I'm good," he said as he stiffly began trying to go around the table. Isaac noticed the way he limped heavily and pressed his left arm up against his ribcage, as if bracing his midsection against the movement.

_No, you're not okay, _Isaac thought as he watched the pilot trying to remain upright. _But I hope you will be soon._ He turned to look at Etheridge, standing beside the door. "We need to have a talk."

oOo

On the trip home, John listened to his father mutter threats against Detective Etheridge. He didn't interrupt, partially because he was too exhausted and partially because he wanted to see his father carry out a few of them. He jumped when his phone began ringing and vibrating against his hip.

"Sheppard here," he answered.

"_Are you out of jail yet, Sheppard?" _

John took in a slow, deep breath. "General O'Neill. Uh, actually I never was in jail; they were just asking me questions. But thanks for clearing up the whole _it's classified _thing for me so they'd let me leave. We're finally on our way home."

"_Well, ya know, if you wouldn't go around beating up defenseless high school students, this wouldn't happen."_

"_Now _you tell me. I'll try to refrain from that in the future, sir."

"_Yes, well, see that you do. I can't have nitwit detectives calling me and accusing my people of attacking civilians. It's . . . annoying. What was wrong with that guy, anyway?"_

"Not sure, sir. My guess would be either brain damage or a complete lack of one."

"_I think I'll go with the latter. How's the visit with dear old dad coming?"_

"Good, sir. A lot better than just about everything else. And thank you again for giving him clearance. It's been nice to be able to tell him what I've been doing."

"_Yeah, well, just remember you owe me."_

"Asurans, sir," reminded John with a grin. "In Atlantis."

"_Oh, yeah. Okay, so you don't owe me. How about we call it even?"_

"I'd like that, sir."

"_Even it is. Enjoy your last few days in California and stay out of jail. That's an order."_

John chuckled. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

As John closed the phone, his father glanced over at him. "That General O'Neill is an odd one."

Grinning, John leaned his head back against the head rest, closing his eyes. "I suppose, in a way. But I think I would have enjoyed serving under him. Kind of wish I'd got the chance."

Joe grunted. "Figures."

John cracked his eyes open and slid them sideways at his father. "Was that a jab?"

Joe smiled innocently as he watched the traffic in front of him. "I have no idea what you mean."

John grunted and closed his eyes. He was almost asleep when they pulled up in the driveway a few minutes later. When the car stopped, he rubbed his face and opened the door, climbing slowly out of the vehicle. His immediate plans included nothing but lying down as soon as he could. The throbbing ache had taken over his entire body.

"Joe!"

John and Joe both looked around to see a tall, thin man running across the street and waving his hand. He was slightly taller than Joe, with sandy hair and bright blue eyes. Joe greeted him as he reached the pair. "Hey, Jack, this is my son, John," he said, motioning toward John. "John, this is Jack Cravens, Mary's husband."

John leaned forward slightly to shake hands with the man as they both mouthed, "Nice to meet you".

Jack turned back to Joe. "Do you happen to remember what night it is?"

Joe frowned slightly and then widened his eyes. "Oh, crap, I forgot. And it's my night, isn't it?"

Jack grinned and nodded. "Yeah, it's supposed to be. But we can cancel if you want. I'll call the guys."

"Yeah, if you don't mind, let's do that."

John frowned and waved his right hand. "Wait a minute, what are you cancelling?"

Joe turned to his son. "Poker night. There's a group of us meets once a month to play poker and it's my night to host. But we do it every month and I don't have much time left with you."

"No," John protested. "Don't cancel. Look, one of two things will happen. Either I'll still be out of it, in which case I can't visit anyway. Or, if I get my second wind, I'll come watch." He grinned. "Maybe I could give you some helpful hints."

Joe snorted. "_You're _going to give _me_ helpful hints? Talk like that and we might deal you in so I can take all your money. All's fair in love and poker."

John narrowed his eyes at his father. "You're on."

Joe turned back to Jack. "Okay, guess we're still on. See you at seven."

Jack nodded. "Mary said she'd make that dip for us again."

Joe grinned and rubbed his hands together. "That's what I'm counting on."

Jack waved and jogged back across the street as the Sheppards climbed the steps to the house and unlocked the door. John headed straight for the bedroom.

"John, we never did eat. Want a sandwich before you lie down?"

John paused at the end of the hall. "No, I'm not hungry. I just really need to get off my feet for a while."

Joe frowned at his son. "You need anything?"

"No Dad, I'm fine." He knew his father was worried and he probably looked pretty worn by now, but he was equally as sure that a nap would make him feel ten times better.

"Okay. I'll need to run to the store after while and get some food for tonight, so if you wake up and I'm not here, that's where I'll be."

John gave a short nod and then headed into his room, longing for the relief of lying down and letting his brain turn off.

oOo

A loud banging woke John up. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The banging noise came again, jarring him further toward full wakefulness. He stood and stumbled forward, his leg almost giving way as he put too much weight on it.

Hobbling in to the living room he stood for a moment before calling out, "Dad?" As if in answer, someone banged on the front door.

That's what the noise had been. "Coming," he called as he headed that direction. Grinning at what he assumed had happened, he yelled, "Forget your key, Dad?" He reached the door and opened it, prepared to make fun of his father.

When the door opened however, Josh Byers stood between two bulky men that reminded him of non-green Incredible Hulks. He grinned broadly at John. "Hey, Sheppard. Aren't you going to invite us in?"

TBC

_I'll give you a hint. Josh isn't there to reminisce about old times._


	9. Chapter 9

**Note: **Thanks again for all the reviews and added thanks to Shelly, Kathy, and Julie for their help with this chapter.

**Going Home - Chapter 9**

John's first reaction was to slam the door, but his sleep-addled body just couldn't respond fast enough. Josh lunged forward and as John tried to take a step back, he inadvertently put most of his weight on his bad leg, which still hadn't loosened up from his nap. The leg buckled and John went down hard on his butt. The next thing he knew, Josh had landed on him and knocked him the rest of the way to the floor, pinning his arms down near his head. Hot pain flashed through his left shoulder, which hadn't seen that range of motion since he'd injured it.

"Time for me to teach you a lesson about meddling, yet again," sputtered Byers as sat astraddle John's midsection. The weight bearing down on his bruised and healing ribs made breathing difficult. "Guess you didn't learn too well the first time."

"I still don't take lessons from bullies, Byers. I see you still like to stack your odds, three against one. You're the biggest coward in two galaxies. I'd like to see you actually go one on one with someone healthy some day, preferable me."

Josh chuckled. "This is about payback, Sheppard, not giving even odds."

When Josh suddenly relaxed his grip slightly, obviously confident that he had the upper hand, John seized the opportunity. Quicker than anyone expected, the pilot brought the knee of his left leg up and drove it into the center of his attacker's back. The angle was bad, he knew it probably hadn't hurt very much, but it was enough of a shock for Byers to lose his grip completely. Yanking his arm away, John slammed his elbow into the man's nose, sending a spray of blood on them both. That's when things really began to go downhill.

oOo

Joe Sheppard glanced at the car racing by as he crossed the intersection nearest his house. The driver looked familiar and he'd seen some type of hand motion as he went by, leaving him wondering if the man had waved. Reaching his driveway, he noticed two things that made his gut clench with instant fear. First, his front door was standing wide open and second, Jack was running down his driveway headed toward Joe's house. Turning the motor off, he quickly climbed out of the car, his neighbor slowed to a stop in front of him.

"Mary's calling the police. I came outside while ago to see Josh Byers and those two goons of his coming out of your house. I figured they'd broken in since your car wasn't here."

Joe felt his heart stutter in his chest as he turned to race toward his front door. "I left John here by himself." He paused for half a second in the doorway, scanning the room to find John on his stomach in the middle of the destroyed living room. His left arm was underneath him and his right stretched out over his head. Remains of the shattered side table were scattered around him, with part of one leg lying across his back.

Joe rushed to kneel at his side just as John lifted his head an inch off the floor. "Dad?" he asked weakly.

Swallowing hard, Joe placed a hand carefully on his son's shoulder. "Yes, it's me. Don't try to move." He could hear Jack calling Mary on his cell phone, telling her to call an ambulance and to get her butt over there pronto. "Help's on the way."

John lowered his head, the left side of his face resting on the carpet. His right cheek and eye were red, with slight purple tinges beginning to become visible. His right eye was swollen almost shut. Blood flowed from both nostrils and a swollen, split lower lip, soaking into the carpet beneath him. "I'm 'kay."

"John," His father sighed and shook his head. "you are most definitely _not _okay."

Grunting, John began using his right arm to try and push himself up. "I've had worse," he said, his words slightly garbled from his swollen lip. Jack came up to kneel on the opposite side of John and helped Joe support his son while he sat up. John squeezed his eyes shut at the jabs of pain from his head, shoulder, and ribs.

"Stay put," demanded Joe firmly. Part of him was proud of his son for not giving in to the pain he was in, but the father in him just wanted his son to be still until medical help arrived.

John opened his eyes to look at his father. "Not going anywhere."

Mary raced in the door and over to kneel beside Joe. "Oh, John . . . police and ambulance are both on the way."

John shifted his eyes over to Mary, trying not to move his pounding head. "Don't need an ambulance."

Mary sighed and dug through the first aid kit she'd brought. "I guess I know where you get that from." She paused a second to cast a look at Joe.

The elder Sheppard smiled, beginning to relax a little now that Mary was here and John was up and complaining. "From his mother, I'm sure."

"Whatever," Mary snorted as she pulled out some gauze and disinfectant. . "Get him a wet rag so he can wipe away some of that blood, then he'll need some ice."

With a damp rag in hand, Joe returned and handed it to his son. while Mary dabbed at a small cut on his forehead. One hand held his hair back off his face while the other pressed a gauze pad against the cut, just below his hairline on the right side. John took the rag and began wiping blood from his upper lip as he tried to hold still for Mary. By the time she finished, he'd cleaned the blood off his face and handed the rag back to his father. They could hear sirens in the distance, getting slowly louder as they drew closer.

"Help me up," said John. "Want off the floor."

"Hang on," said Mary. "Tell me where you hurt."

John snorted and then groaned, closing his eyes for a second. When he opened them, he seemed much paler than he had before and his face remained in a grimace. "How about . . . I tell you where . . . it doesn't hurt. Easier."

Mary blew out a breath and frowned. "Okay, let me rephrase. Where does it hurt the worst?"

"Shoulder . . . ribs."

At that moment, Joe noticed how John sat awkwardly, hunched over toward his right as if trying to relieve pressure from his left side. Mary looked at the couch just a few feet away and back to John. "Okay, if we're careful we can move you to the couch."

She began shoving debris to one side to clear a path as Joe and Jack helped John to his feet. Joe watched what little color John had drain from his face as his head lolled forward and his legs tried to fold back up. Ready for anything, the two men half dragged, half carried John to the couch and set him down. Mary helped them ease the injured man over to lie against the cushions as they heard the siren sounding loud outside the open door before stopping all together.

"I'll get them," said Jack as he moved toward the door.

Joe looked down at John, placing one hand on his son's arm. "John, are you with us?"

John's eyes fluttered open and seemed to roll a few seconds before settling. "Yeah . . . got kind of . . . fuzzy for a minute."

A loud commotion at the door drew their attention as two paramedics with a gurney and equipment came through the open doorway. Mary and Joe stepped aside so the medics could get to John. Joe had to smile as he heard John tell one of the men he was fine.

"So, is that genetic?" asked Mary, looking sternly at Joe. "You know, the whole _I'm fine _when obviously you're not."

Joe just shrugged his shoulders. "Probably." A police officer entered the door and stood looking around. Joe recognized him as the officer who had come to get John earlier that day. He walked over to greet the man. Realizing he had no idea what the officer's name was, he glanced down at his nametag.

"I'm glad to see you, Officer . . . Estrada?" His eyes went wide as the man grimaced and shook his head.

"No, no relationship and no, I don't know him, and yes, I know how weird this is."

If he hadn't been so mad and worried, Joe probably would have laughed, but as it was, he was having a hard time not slamming his fist through a wall, so he let it pass. "I want Josh Byers arrested. He broke into my house with two of his friends and they attacked my son."

Estrada looked over to where the paramedics were checking John. "Did you see them do this?" he asked, looking around the room. Furniture was upended and smashed in every corner of the room. Glass and splintered wood littered the floor. The only thing still in tact was the couch John lay on.

"No," Joe sighed and rubbed the side of his face. "I had gone to the store and got back soon after they left. I think I passed his car about three houses down, but I didn't know at the time they had done this."

Jack stepped over to stand beside Joe. "I saw them leave the house. We're the ones who called you. I didn't realize John was here at the time, but I knew Joe wasn't, so I thought they were breaking in." He stood gazing in the distance for a moment. "You know, now that I think about it, I think Josh Byers was holding a hand to his face. Maybe John got in a good punch or two before they ganged up on him."

The officer nodded. "I'll put out a bulletin on his car and we'll notify the hospital, just in case. I'll need to talk to your son as soon as he's able. I'm going to call this in and then I'll be back." Estrada turned and left, leaving Joe and Jack to join Mary near the couch.

One of the paramedics stood up and turned around to face them. "Are any of you a relative?"

Joe nodded. "I'm his father. Is he okay?"

The young man sighed as he draped the stethoscope over his shoulders. "His shoulder's messed up, but there's no way to tell how badly without an x-ray or possibly an MRI. We've got it wrapped up pretty tightly. He said he was already recovering from broken ribs, but there's no way to evaluate any changes without an x-ray and he's refusing to go to the hospital."

"Oh, he is, is he?" The paramedic moved to one side to allow Joe to get closer while the other one placed a butterfly bandage over the cut on his forehead. "John, you're going to the hospital and that's final. We need to let a doctor check you out."

"Dad, I'm fine. I've got a few new bruises, a swollen eye, and no dignity left, but other than that, I'm fine. I already have painkillers on hand so I can drug myself into oblivion after while when I start getting sore and stiff. And I've spent enough time in infirmaries lately that I have no desire to add hospital time to that."

Uncertainty warred with concern and Joe looked at the paramedic he'd been talking to. "How much do I need to press him about this?" He understood what his son was saying about not wanting to spend any more time in a hospital like setting.

The man shrugged his shoulders. "I'm not a doctor, but there's no sign of him actually being hit in the head, it's mostly facial trauma. There's massive bruising around the ribcage and the broken and cracked ribs I mentioned earlier. He's probably in no immediate danger unless he's bleeding internally, which you'd need to go to the hospital to determine. I'd say if he doesn't go to the hospital tonight, then watch him very carefully and call your doctor tomorrow. He can guide you from there."

John gave a small nod to the medic as he finished with his head and then looked up at his father. "Dad, please. Look . . . if it'll make you feel better, we can call Dr. Shoemaker tomorrow and check with him. Besides, you have a poker party in less than two hours."

"John, I'm not worried about a blasted poker party," Joe snapped. "And what about your shoulder? We should have that looked at."

"It can wait, Dad. I won't die from a shoulder being wrenched around."

"I'm not telling either of you what to do, but I'm across the street if you need me," said Mary.

Joe groaned and made an unhappy face at his son before finally giving a reluctant nod. "All right, but I'm calling Dr. Shoemaker first thing in the morning and you _will _do whatever he says."

John looked relieved. "Okay, I will, promise. Thanks." The lop-sided grin only annoyed Joe.

"You're just as stubborn as your mother," he groused. He watched as the paramedics packed up their gear and then headed out the door. It was then he noticed that Officer Estrada had come back in and seemed to be waiting until the room cleared out a little to talk to John. Jack and Mary came over to stand on either side of him.

"We're going home, if you'll be okay. I'll come back in a few minutes and help you straighten up, unless you want to cancel," said Jack.

"Don't," said John. "I'll help you clean up."

"No, you won't," said Joe firmly. "We sit at the kitchen table and everything in there is fine. All I need to do is clear a path through here for tonight and I can worry about the rest later. You wouldn't go to the hospital, but you're darn sure going to lie down and take it easy."

"We could have it our place," offered Jack.

"No, I want to stay close to John in case he needs something and I don't want him trying to walk across the street," said Joe.

"Don't forget to call your insurance company tomorrow," said Mary. "And call me if you need me. I may drop in after while and take a look at John, if that's okay."

"I'd appreciate that, and thanks for coming over to see about him." Joe responded with a smile. Jack gave Joe a pat on the back and then the two of them left.

John started trying to sit up and Joe quickly came over and pushed him back down by his good shoulder. "Keep still for a few minutes, will you? Officer Estrada needs to talk to you about what happened."

John's eyebrows shot up. "Did you say Estrada?"

Joe grimaced. "Yes, but I'd suggest you not ask him to elaborate. I get the feeling it's a touchy subject. I'll get your meds and a glass of water and you don't move from this spot."

A few minutes later, Joe returned with a bottle of John's pills, a glass of water, and a chair for the officer, as well as an icepack for the side of John's face. John was in the middle of telling the officer what had occurred. He paused while the policeman got settled in the chair and Joe helped him sit up enough to take one of the pills and swallow some water. Joe then righted an upended easy chair and sat down to listen to the rest of John's account, watching his son's one open eyelid as it seemed to droop farther and farther, while the icepack rested on the other side of his face, hiding the swollen lid.

By the time the officer finished and stood up, John was barely awake. Officer Estrada slid his notebook and pencil into his shirt pocket. "I can help you move him to a bed if you'd like," he offered.

"No," Joe sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I think I'll just leave him there for a while. I hate to wake him."

"What?" John's eye flickered open for a moment. "I'm wake," he slurred as his lid closed again.

"Right," said Joe quietly. "You're about as awake as you are fine."

Officer Estrada extended his hand toward Joe. "Well, sir, I appreciate the cooperation and I'll let you know when we find Josh Byers. I'd advise keeping your doors locked in case he comes back and don't hesitate to call if you see him or hear from him. I hope your son is all right. I guess this hasn't been much of a vacation for him."

Joe nodded. "I'm sure he's had better. Thanks for your help, officer." He walked the man to the door and locked it after he left. He wasn't afraid of Josh Byers, but he wasn't going to let trouble in willingly. He watched his son sleep for a few minutes before lifting the icepack to check underneath and then adjusting its position.

"I really can't leave you alone for a minute, can I?" he whispered before beginning to quietly straighten his demolished living room.

oOo

At a quarter to seven, Jack helped Joe move John to the bedroom. John opened his eyes and tried to help, but the two men ended up supporting most of his weight. He mumbled something about Teyla kicking his butt harder than usual as they led him down the hall and Joe had to muffle his chuckle. When they finally had John settled, they began setting out the food and drinks.

Players began arriving a few minutes later. Morgan arrived first, then Harry and Dave shortly after that. Although Jack and Joe had cleaned up most of the glass and smaller debris from the living room, it was still obvious something major had taken place. So the two men spent the first few minutes explaining what had happened.

Even after they began playing, Joe continued to worry, wishing he'd made John go to the hospital. A half-hour into their game, he excused himself between hands to check on John. He quietly slid the door open and peered in to see John sleeping in the same position they had left him. The paramedics had bandaged his left arm and shoulder so that it was almost completely immobilized and placed it back in the sling. Joe noticed that everything still seemed to be in place. John sighed in his sleep, moving his right arm so that his hand rested on his stomach. Joe watched the even rise and fall of his chest before backing out and closing the door.

Four worried faces looked up when he entered the kitchen. "He seems okay, just sleeping," he reported as he poured himself a cup of coffee. He usually allowed himself a couple of beers on poker night, but he wanted to keep his head clear tonight. He couldn't help but regret the way John's return had been marred with violence.

A half hour later, he felt the need to check on John again. He was just getting out of his chair when the phone rang. Joe grabbed the receiver quickly to minimize the noise.

"Hello."

"_I'd like to speak to Joe Sheppard. This is Officer Estrada."_

"This is Joe Sheppard. I hope you have good news, because we could use some."

"_Yes, sir, I do. We picked up Josh Byers about twenty minutes ago, along with Frank Carter and Bart Whitaker. Detective Knighten said to tell you he'd be handling it himself and would make sure they were properly questioned."_

Joe felt his whole body relax with the knowledge that the men who had hurt John were behind bars and would likely not get away with what they'd done. "Thank you officer, that's the best news I've had in a while."

"_I'm glad to help, sir. Is the Colonel still doing all right?"_

"Yes, so far. I was just going to check on him. Thank you for asking."

"_I'm glad to hear that. Detective Knighten will probably call you tomorrow and let you know where the investigation stands. Good night, sir."_

"Good night, officer." Joe hung up the phone and grinned at the men surrounding the table, all of whom were staring expectantly at him. "They caught Byers and his goons."

"Now if they can just make it stick this time," said Jack. "It's about time we got those nuts off the street."

Joe looked up at a noise coming from the kitchen door to see John stagger to the doorway and lean against it. His face was white and covered with a sheen of sweat. Perspiration also soaked his shirt and plastered his hair to his bruised and swollen face. He was bent over, his left hand pushed against this stomach as his right hand clutched the doorframe. "Dad?" he whispered, grimacing as if the word had caused him pain. "Something's . . . wrong."

Joe was able to take one step toward his son before John began to pitch forward. Almost in unison, he lurched toward the falling body as his four friends jumped to their feet, shaking the table and knocking over chairs. It seemed almost as if the whole event played out in slow motion. John hit the floor just as Joe reached him, his fingers glancing off John's elbow as he bent forward in an effort to catch his son.

"Call an ambulance!" he yelled as he knelt beside his son's still form and reached for John's neck to search for a pulse.

TBC

_Oops! That was two chapters in a row, wasn't it? My bad._


	10. Chapter 10

**Note: **Julie suggested I put a hanky warning on this one.

**Going Home - Chapter 10**

Jack drove Joe to the hospital, practically kissing the back of the ambulance without regard to possible speeding violations. For that, Joe was grateful. He only lost sight of the ambulance when they arrived at the base gate and had to stop.

A few minutes later, Jack let Joe out at the Emergency Entrance and then went to scout out a parking place. The retired colonel raced through the door in time to see the gurney being rushed down the hall. He got a brief glimpse of his son, face obscured by an oxygen mask, as they wheeled him into one of the trauma rooms. When Joe tried to follow, a nurse blocked his way.

"Sir, you'll have to return the waiting room."

"That's my son," he argued, leaning around to watch the myriad of personnel working over John through the small window. All he could see was machines and the backs of the medical staff, all of which seemed to be in frantic motion.

"I'm sorry, sir, but you still can't go in." Her tone and expression had softened some in response to his obvious distress. "It's better for your son this way. The doctors need to concentrate on helping him and worried relatives just tend to distract them."

Joe let his gaze fall to the young nurse in front of him. Taking a deep breath, he admitted to himself that she was right and gave her a small nod. "I'm sorry . . . I'm just . . ."

"I know." She nodded not unsympathetically. "They're very good at what they do. Just give them a chance."

Joe nodded and turned around, slowly making his way down the corridor.

"Colonel Sheppard?"

He turned toward the voice to see Dr. Shoemaker walking toward him. "I thought that was you. Is everything all right?"

Joe felt a wash of relief flow over him. Even though he'd only met the man once, he felt comfortable with him. "Did someone call you about John?"

Frowning, the doctor shook his head. "No, I was just checking on a patient. Has something happened?"

"Some men broke into my house while John was there alone and attacked him. The paramedics checked him out earlier, but he didn't want to come to the hospital. We thought he was okay and then . . . he collapsed a few minutes ago. He's in there." Joe pointed to the treatment room he'd just left.

Shoemaker's expression tightened. "I'll go see if I can help since I'm familiar with his recent injuries. Don't worry," he said, lightly gripping Joe's arm for a moment before rushing off.

"Easier said than done," Joe said quietly to himself. He returned to the waiting room to find Jack looking for him. "They won't let me in," he said simply as he let himself drop into an empty chair.

Jack looked at him a moment and then sat down beside him. "Then we'll wait."

A short time later, Joe looked up to see Dr. Shoemaker coming toward him. He stood and took the steps needed to meet the man. "John?"

"They've taken him to surgery and I'm going to scrub in and join them. Three of his healing ribs were broken and he's been bleeding internally. One of them punctured a lung, probably when he collapsed, so we had to stabilize his breathing before we could take him up. We'll be moving him to ICU after the surgery, so you can wait in the ICU waiting room. I'll come talk to you there when we're done."

Joe nodded, feeling numb and disconnected. "What . . . will he be all right?"

Dr. Shoemaker paused, the muscles around his jaw momentarily tensing. "We'll do the best we can." He gave a slight nod to the two men as he started to turn. "I have to go. ICU is on the third floor, just follow the signs to the waiting room."

Momentarily frozen, Joe stood and watched the physician disappear through a set of doors. A firm but gentle grip on his arm brought him back and Jack said, "I need to call Mary and tell her where we'll be. She was coming up as soon as she got finished at your place."

"My place?" Joe said, feeling somewhat disconnected. His mind felt sluggish and he couldn't make sense of what Jack was saying. "What's she doing there?"

Hesitating a moment, Jack grimaced and let out a sigh. "She wanted to clean up all the litter . . . you know, from the paramedics. She didn't want you to go home and have to deal with that."

Joe gave a slight nod, thinking that sounded like the Mary he knew. "Rodney . . . I need to call John's friend. He'll want to know, in case . . . in case John doesn't make it." He felt the grip on his arm tighten.

"He'll make it, Joe, you have to believe that. But you're right. If he's John's friend, he'll want to know. Do you know how to reach him?"

"John's phone . . . it'll be on John's phone. I think it's on his nightstand."

Nodding, Jack led Joe toward the elevator. "Okay, I'll have Mary bring it when she comes."

They were seated in the ICU waiting room thirty minutes later when Mary arrived, looking rushed and worried. As the men stood to meet her, she wrapped her arms around Joe and gave him a tight hug. "How're you holding up?"

"Keeping my fingers crossed," he answered quietly. He couldn't tell her that he was terrified. The only other time he'd felt like this was sitting beside his wife, waiting for her to die after months of chemotherapy and pain and dashed hopes. He hadn't deserved a second chance with John, but he'd gotten one anyway. And now he was on the verge of losing him.

Mary pulled away so she could look at him, keeping her hands on his upper arms. "Don't you stop believing in him. If he's half as stubborn as his father, then he'll be fine." She let go and reached in her purse to pull out John's cell phone. "Jack said you needed this."

Joe nodded, taking it from her. "Yes, thank you. I need to call his friend, let him know what's happened. Then I guess I need to try to call General O'Neill, so they'll know John isn't going to make his plane this weekend." He popped open the phone and went to the address book. Rodney McKay was at the top of the list. Looking up at Mary, he sighed. "I'd better do this." He hit the dial key and walked over to stand beside the window.

"_Colonel, about time you called. Hey, I hate to admit it, but that whole 'go to the store for Jeannie' thing worked like a charm."_

Joe closed his eyes and swallowed hard. "Dr. McKay, this is Joe Sheppard, John's father." The line went silent to the point Joe wondered if the connection had been dropped. "Dr. McKay?"

"_How bad is it?"_

Joe was taken aback at the question, surprised that Dr. McKay already knew John was injured. "He . . . He was attacked by some men earlier today and collapsed just a short while ago. They've taken him to surgery. All I know is internal bleeding and a punctured lung. They didn't elaborate on his chances . . . but I'm worried. How did you know?"

A deep sigh could be heard on the other end of the line. _"Because it's him and why else would his father be calling me? This is so typical. I can't believe I wasn't expecting it. Just . . . tell me exactly where you are and I'll catch the next available flight. I'll need to contact the SGC so they can get hold of Atlantis. Uh, you did get security clearance, right?"_

"What . . . oh, yes, I know all about that."

"_That's good, now I won't have to make up some stupid lie to cover for my big mouth. So tell me, where exactly am I trying to get a flight to?"_

oOo

By the time Dr. Shoemaker appeared in the doorway to the waiting room, Joe was almost to the point of storming the operating room. He'd driven the nurses crazy asking if they'd heard anything and they'd remained remarkable patient with his inquiries. Morgan had joined them shortly after Mary came and had stayed to make sure John made it through the surgery, periodically calling to update the others.

The four of them rushed the doctor before he made it two steps into the room. "Dr., how's John?" Joe was a little surprised at the detectable quiver in his voice. He noticed how tired and worn the doctor looked and suddenly realized how late it had gotten.

"He's stable. We were able to stop the bleeding, but it took a while. We've inserted a chest tube and his lung is reinflated. I didn't tell you before, but he stopped breathing downstairs and we had to intubate him in the ER. We have him on a respirator right now and it'll probably stay for a few days until he's strong enough to breathe on his own. He has a bruised kidney, but the damage appears to be peripheral and the little bleeding there was seems to have stopped. Still, we'll need to keep an eye on it in case it develops into something more severe."

Joe nodded, the lump in his throat making it almost impossible to speak. "Thank you. What . . . what are his chances?"

The doctor sighed and rubbed the sweaty hair on his forehead. "I'm not going to lie to you. He's already in a weakened state because of his prior injuries and the trauma was severe. I don't like to give odds, because it would just be a guess. I can tell you that he's hanging in there and seems to be fighting. But he's certainly not out of the woods yet. There's still a lot that can go wrong, including his body just not being able to handle any more right now. All we can do at this point is monitor him and try to treat things as they arise and . . . just hope for the best. I know that probably isn't exactly what you wanted to hear, but it's the best I can do."

Joe nodded. "Thank you, for being honest. I want to know where we stand."

"I understand. I would want to know the truth myself, so I try to be honest with family members. Oh, I'm afraid any healing his shoulder had done has pretty much been undone, so when he's stronger, he's probably looking at more surgery. Our priority right now is keeping him alive, so we can worry about that later."

"When can I see him?" asked Joe.

"It'll be a while longer. I think they're bringing him directly to ICU, but they'll have to get him settled and check things out. The nurse will let you know." The doctor grinned. "I understand they are already well aware you're out here and concerned."

Joe shrugged his shoulders, not ashamed of being concerned for his son. "I hope they aren't too angry with me, but I was just so worried."

"It's okay, they understand. They're used to dealing with distraught family members and all in all, they're a pretty patient bunch. I've already spoken to Debbie and she's going to make sure you're kept up to date."

Joe let out a deep breath, trying to make his heart slow down to the point it didn't feel like it was going to explode from his chest. "Thank you, Dr. Shoemaker, for everything you've done."

"No problem," he said, extending his hand. "I'll be heading home as soon as I know he's settled, but I'll check back with you tomorrow. He's in good hands, Colonel, so try not to worry." With a nod, he turned and left them alone.

Morgan gave him a nod and flipped open his cell phone to call the others. Jack and Mary hugged one another, followed by Mary giving Joe a big hug. "He'll be okay," she whispered in his ear. He silently prayed she was right.

oOo

It was another hour before the nurse came to get Joe. Debbie was relatively short, the top of her head barely coming above Joe's shoulder. She had shoulder length brown hair and kind, green eyes. She walked over to sit beside him as he sat mulling over how he'd let things get so wrong.

"Colonel Sheppard, I'm Debbie. Dr. Shoemaker said you'd be waiting on me."

Joe looked up, the events of the day beginning to catch up with him. "Can I see John now?"

Offering a patient smile, Debbie patted the top of his hand. "In a few minutes. I just need to go over a few things with you first. We've recently made some changes in our ICU visitors' policy. We still have specific visiting hours and a limited number of people allowed in the room at one time, but we now allow one family member to stay with the patient at all times. The doctor may ask you to step out during certain procedures or if there are any problems and we'll need you to cooperate with us on that."

Joe nodded. "That's fine, I can do that."

Debbie looked up at Jack, Mary, and Morgan. "Are you friends?"

Jack nodded. "Yes, Mary and I live across the street and Morgan's been a friend of the family for many years. Would it be possible for us to go in with Joe, just for a minute?"

Debbie nodded. "Certainly, but you can't stay long. Our numbers are unusually low right now, so Dr. Shoemaker arranged for you to go in with Colonel Sheppard for a few minutes. After this, you'll need to abide by the regular hours."

The three nodded; obviously pleased they were going to be allowed to accompany Joe to John's room. They stood and followed Debbie through some doors and down a hall to John's room. When Debbie moved to one side of the bed and Joe got his first look at John, he felt like his heart dropped all the way to his feet. He would never have guessed the limp, pale form in the bed was his son.

John's face was partially obstructed by the tube coming from his mouth and attached to the respirator. Bruises colored most of the right side of his face, with swelling apparent around his eye and cheek. Several bags of fluid and one of blood hung from the pole near the head of the bed, with tubes leading to his arm. Bandages covering his abdomen and lower chest peeked out from under the sheet pulled up to his waist and others surrounded his left shoulder. Another tube emerged from his side to snake down to the floor and disappear. Monitors abounded with beeping, and flashing numbers and lights.

Joe didn't realize he'd stopped in the middle of the room until Mary took his arm and guided him over to stand beside the bed. He was terrified beyond words. He wanted to look away, to not look at his son as he clung to life by a thread, and yet he couldn't take his eyes off John. He was afraid if he looked away, when he looked back John would be dead. "I'm so sorry, son," he whispered. "I should have made you go to the hospital."

Jack placed a strong arm around Joe's shoulders. "Don't go there, Joe. It probably wouldn't have made any difference. Besides, you would have had to physically drag him down here."

Joe let his head drop forward. "They would have caught it earlier . . . they could have treated him earlier."

"Maybe, maybe not. No use dwelling on something we'll never know. The important thing is that he's here now and he's alive. Hey, he's a Sheppard. That's gotta count for something, right?"

Joe lifted his head to look at his friend. "Right. Thank you."

Debbie finished checking the monitors and looked across the bed. "I'm afraid everyone but the Colonel will have to leave now. Visiting hours begin at ten a.m."

"I'll be back at ten," said Jack, letting go of Joe. Mary came up to lean her head against Joe's upper arm.

"I have to work the early shift, but I'll be in tomorrow evening. I might slide down here during my break to check on the two of you. I'll be on five in the orthopedic section if you need me."

Debbie widened her eyes. "Mary. I knew you looked familiar."

Mary nodded. "Yes, Mary Cravens. If I leave our extension and my hours, can someone give me a call if there's any change in John's condition?"

Debbie smiled and nodded. "Of course, just leave it with me on the way out and I'll be sure to post it. You'd better get home if you plan on getting any sleep at all."

Mary looked at Joe. "You call us if you need anything or there's any change. I don't care what time it is. Understand?"

Joe nodded and wrapped his arm around Mary, giving her a squeeze. "I have no idea how I would have survived this without you two."

Mary smiled at him and patted his arm. "You'd have done just fine. Take care of yourself, Joe. I'll check with you before I go on shift."

At Joe's nod, Jack and Mary quietly left with Debbie. Morgan, who had been standing silently at the foot of the bed, walked over to Joe, placing a firm hand on the man's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "I think I'll just hang around in the waiting room for a while. Let me know if you need me."

"Thank you, Morgan." Joe looked back at his son. "I just . . . I never thought I'd see him like this. I just found him again . . . "

"I know. It's not fair, no matter how you look at it. Don't give up on him just yet. He always was a tough kid."

Joe just nodded and watched as Morgan left him alone in the room with his son. The only sounds were the quiet whoosh of the ventilator and the soft beeping of the monitor. Joe watched his son's chest rise and fall until his legs were so tired they threatened to dump him in the floor. Looking around, he spotted an easy chair near the wall. Lowering himself into it while his knees creaked in protest, he decided it had been a lot of years since he'd been this tired. Once he was seated, he didn't think he was capable of getting up again.

A sense of impending doom overwhelmed him as he watched his son struggle for each breath; , like he was sitting there waiting for him to die. It didn't help that John looked more dead than alive. The only outward sign his son still lived were the monitors confirming that John's heart was still beating. Joe rubbed his forehead against the ache that had set up residence. It was going to be a long night, even though it was already half over.

oOo

When Mary came by on the way to start her shift the next morning, Joe reported that there had been no change. Morgan slipped in with her to bring coffee and Joe told him to go home and get some sleep. Every time the nursing staff came in to change an IV or check John over, he asked about his son's condition. The nurses never seemed irritated; instead, they talked in soothing tones as they explained his condition was the same. Joe didn't know if that was good or bad. As much as he wanted to hear John was improving, he couldn't help but be grateful he hadn't gotten any worse.

Jack came at ten, as promised, assuring Joe that he was between projects and had time to kill. Morgan, Dave, and Harry all dropped in around eleven, offering encouragement and support. Jack tried to talk him into stepping out for a few minutes to get something to eat or go home and shower, but Joe refused. He had barely taken his eyes from John's form. He was afraid if he did, he'd lose him and he couldn't take that chance.

At noon, the nurse ran everyone else out and brought Joe a lunch tray. He thanked her and picked at it while watching the machine breathe for his son. He was so tired he could barely think. A deep abiding sadness kept creeping up and threatening to overwhelm him. He just had this nagging feeling that he was going to lose this one. He'd seen several men underneath him leave looking like John did now and it seemed like he usually got word a day or two later that they hadn't made it.

Jack was back at two, bearing a change of clothes and some snack foods for Joe. It took some convincing, but he finally talked the exhausted man into going to bathroom to freshen up and change clothes. "If your smell alienates the nurses, you won't get much cooperation from them," Jack had argued. It worked. Joe trembled with fear and weariness the whole time he was away from his son.

Jack was run out at four, once again leaving him alone with John. He stood by his son, gripping his arm in the one patch of exposed skin that wasn't injured or supporting tubes or wires. Memories of times with his wife and young son ran through his thoughts, leaving his mind in a fog. A loud beeping brought him out of his reverie.

Confused, he stood looking dumbly at the equipment, unsure of which one was producing the scary noise. He spotted a number that seemed to be dropping on one about the time two nurses ran in. He recognized the one with braided brown hair, as she'd been in several times before. Danielle. He automatically stepped back to allow them access to John. "I didn't touch anything, it just started doing that."

"We know, Colonel," said Danielle as she silenced the alarm. "His oxygen levels are dropping."

The other nurse, who had taken Joe's place at John's side, was watching as the blood pressure cuff around his arm inflated. "Pressure's starting to drop as well."

The same alarm as before went off again, making Joe jump. "What's happening?"

Danielle hit the call button, not waiting on anyone to answer. "We have a problem in here and we need a doctor."

The other nurse turned to Joe. "Sir, you need to step out of the room please."

Not wanting to leave, Joe backed slowly toward the door. He desperately wanted to grab John's hand and beg him to hang on, to fight with everything he had. The door flew open and two men rushed in, further surrounding the bed so that he could see very little of his son. Another alarm blared and this time he saw the line on the heart monitor look like it was a scribble drawn by a child.

"He's crashing," someone yelled.

"I can't get a pressure."

Joe felt his legs get weak as his vision began to gray. He was losing his son and there was nothing he could do about it. It was just like when he'd lost his wife all those years ago. Frantic motion and people shouting reports and orders all merged together as white noise for a moment before one voice prompted everyone to lean back.

"Clear." A brief jerking motion from the bed accompanied a strange thumping sound.

"Colonel, you need to come with me." A nurse he hadn't seen before took him by the arm and guided him out the door. He vaguely wondered where she had come from as he let her pull him out of the room The last sound he heard before the door closed was the doctor telling them to charge the machine again.

The next thing he knew, the nurse was easing him into one of the empty chairs in the ICU waiting room. There were several other people in the room, all of them casting sympathetic looks his direction.

"Will you be all right?" asked the young nurse. Joe looked at her for the first time. She looked like she was about fifteen to him, but he knew she had to be older. Maybe a student nurse?

"Would you like me to call someone?" she asked almost hopefully.

Joe looked at her dumbly. "Uh . . . no . . . not yet."

The young girl nodded and patted his shoulder. "Someone will be out shortly to . . . um . . . to let you know what happened." She suddenly looked uncomfortable and a little sad. "Do you need anything?"

Joe sighed and looked down at the floor. "Just my son," he said quietly. He wasn't sure when she left. He just looked up a few minutes later and she was gone. Joe tried to stay positive, but he kept remembering how bad John had looked and how frantic the doctors and nurses had seemed. Suddenly he let himself actually think about what would happen if John hadn't made it and it almost made him sick. At least he and John had made peace, he reminded himself. That was worth something.

Leaning forward, Joe put his face in his hands and did something he hadn't done in over twenty years, since losing John's mother. He wept.

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

**Going Home - Chapter 11**

Rodney hurried down the corridor, dodging people and wheelchairs while pulling his luggage along behind him. As soon as he'd heard from John's father, he'd called the SGC, thrown everything back in his suitcase, then headed for the airport to catch the first available flight.

The flight had dragged on, so much slower than a jumper. His mind swung between worry and frustration in equal measure; worried for the obvious but frustrated that there was no stargate about to engage, no cold whoosh to signal they were in the final seconds before help was at hand. He'd never been a patient man, but this was almost more than he could bear. He hadn't felt this bad since the Cloister, when every second for him was days and days for Sheppard; the same panic was building in him, the same cold twisting of his gut. His frustrated sighs and fidgeting in his seat finally had the woman beside him quietly asking the stewardess if she could perhaps be moved, to another seat.

He closed his eyes to block out their awkward stares and managed to still his thoughts enough to doze a little, but then kept jerking awake, heart pounding to the dream that he arrived to find Sheppard hadn't made it. _For Pete's sake! You'd think the man could quit trying to die for a few days while I visit my sister. What is it with him and the constant flow of near-death experiences? _His torment was finally ended when the wheels of the passenger jet hit the tarmac; It took all his self control not to scramble over the other passengers and wrestle the door open.

Finally arriving at the ICU, he looked over the counter at a nurse sitting on the other side, making notes on a chart.. "I'm looking for Lt. Colonel John Sheppard," he announced sharply.

The woman looked around to the man standing behind her, who shrugged his shoulders. She stood and peered down the hall for a moment before returning her attention to him. Rodney's irritation at the way the nurse seemed to be ignoring his request or trying to dump him off on someone else boiled to the surface.

"Look, I've just flown in from Canada because his father called me to tell me he had been injured and was in here, so I know he's here. If it's a security problem, I assure you that my clearance is about three times higher than anyone here's IQ. I want to see John Sheppard and I want to see him now!"

The nurse grimaced, beginning to look annoyed. "I'm afraid that's not possible right now, but I can take you to his father."

Rodney sighed and rolled his eyes. "Fine, at least maybe he knows what's going on around here. Honestly, I thought an Air Force hospital would be a little more organized."

Her jaw muscles tightened in a way Rodney recognized, as he'd seen in others numerous times before. Oh, yeah, she was annoyed. _Big deal Sister, get annoyed. You ain't seen nothing yet_. She walked around the desk and led him a few feet away to a waiting room with chairs lining the walls. Two women sat at the opposite end and an older man sat near the door with his face in his hands.

"Colonel Sheppard, there's someone here to see you," said the nurse smoothly. Rodney raised his eyebrows at her, staring her down when she sneaked a glance his way. Her cheeks flushed red and she gulped suddenly, turning quickly to make her exit.

When the man looked up, Rodney knew without a doubt that this was John's father. The jawline, nose, and mouth were identical to John. His hair was cut a little shorter than John's and was mostly gray. It was the eyes that caught his attention, though. They were red and puffy, as if the man had been crying. "Dr. McKay?" Rodney felt his stomach coil and his pulse quicken.

"Oh, my God, I'm too late," he whispered, his face slackened in defeat.

Joe Sheppard seemed almost dazed and didn't respond for a moment, as if he was still processing the statement. In the interim, Rodney began to panic. What was he going to do? How could he go back to Atlantis and tell Elizabeth that John had been killed while paying a harmless visit to his father after surviving everything that had happened over the past three years. If only they had stayed in Atlantis. His heart was pounding so hard he felt dizzy.

"I . . . his heart stopped . . . they made me leave and . . . they won't tell me anything . . ."

It took Rodney a minute to figure out that Sheppard's father was telling him John might still be alive. "Are they still working on him?" he asked breathlessly.

"Yes . . . I think so . . . but, his heart stopped, how…"

The wave of relief made Rodney's legs feel weak so he plopped down in the chair beside Joe. He just sat breathing in and out for a moment, trying to calm his pounding heart. "Oh God, where there's life there's hope; trust me – sometimes this is as good as it gets. I wish he'd stop doing this. I'm never going to live to see old age."

Joe opened his mouth as if to respond, but then looked past Rodney and jumped to his feet. Rodney turned to see a doctor in a white coat entering the small room, so he quickly joined Joe, almost tripping over his suitcase. Joe didn't say a word, just waiting hopefully on the doctor to talk.

"Yes, yes, c'mon spill the beans, you have him stabilized, right?" Rodney blurted out before either of the two men could speak. The doctor ignored Rodney, favoring him with only a flick of his eyes before addressing Joe.

"Colonel Sheppard, we do have your son stabilized. I'm afraid there was a problem with the chest tube and he was having trouble getting enough oxygen, even with the ventilator, but we've remedied that. I want to monitor him a little more closely for a few minutes, so if you'll remain here, I'll send someone to get you once we're sure he's settled."

The elder Sheppard let out a deep breath and swayed a little on his feet. Rodney took his arm to steady him, feeling his own version of total and extreme relief. "Is this going to set him back any?" asked Joe.

"Well, obviously it wasn't good, as it placed an added strain on the body, but we were able to turn it around fairly quickly, so we're hopeful."

Rodney grunted. "I've often wondered why more doctors don't go into politics. They're just as adept at giving vague answers that mean absolutely nothing."

To Rodney's surprise, the doctor laughed instead of taking offense. "Yes, I suppose we are. Sometimes it's just hard to tell with the human body."

"No doubt," replied Rodney acidly. "Which is why I prefer working with nuclear bombs and . . . well, never mind."

The doctor, who Rodney figured was probably close to his age, lowered one eyebrow in a partial frown. "I'm Dr. Arnold, by the way. And you are . . . "

Rodney jutted his chin out, trying to exude importance. "Dr. Rodney McKay, but my doctorates are in the real sciences, like physics. I'm Colonel Sheppard's best friend and a member of his team. Colonel Sheppard the younger, not the older. Anyway, I just flew in from Canada and as soon as you people are through trying to kill him, I'd appreciate a chance to see him."

Dr. Arnold looked at Joe, who just shrugged his shoulders. "I can vouch for the fact that they work together and his is a good friend of John's. I think he may even have saved John's life recently."

Rodney's self important expression faded to nothing. "He . . . he told you about that?"

Joe gave a small, tight, smile. "Yes, he did. He was very proud of you. I think he also said you were arrogant and annoying, but he seems to consider you his best friend as well."

Rodney sighed. "He does like . . . what? Arrogant and annoying? Well, as least I'm not a suicidal, cocky, flirty, Kirk-like wild-headed flyboy."

The doctor was seriously frowning at Rodney now as he backed up a half step. "And with that, I'm going back to make sure Lt. Colonel Sheppard has been taken care of. Someone will be back to let you know when you can see him." He nodded his head toward Joe and then left.

Rodney turned to find the older Sheppard staring at him. He waved his hand dismissively as he sat down. "Don't look so serious. I tend to ramble when I'm worried. But he can be cocky and he is flirty and sometimes I seriously wonder about the suicidal part. Well, he's not actually suicidal, but he does the dumbest things trying to protect everyone around but himself. You need to have a serious talk with him when he wakes up."

Rodney pulled a powerbar out of his pocket and tore open the wrapper. "I carry a few of these with me. Never know when you'll need them and I haven't eaten in forever." He bit off the end and began chewing, finally looking back at the man. "So, how did Sheppard get himself into this mess? I swear, the man is a trouble magnet."

Joe looked up curiously. "A trouble magnet?"

Rodney nodded. "Oh, yes, the stories I could tell you. This is not the first time I've sat waiting to see if the Colonel would live or not, no, far from it. He's a regular visitor to the infirmary, practically has a reserved bed."

"I'd like to hear about some of those stories… I think…"

Rodney finished chewing his current bite and then swallowed. "You tell me about this little fiasco and then I'll tell you about some of his Pegasus adventures." He took another bite and then stopped chewing suddenly, turning to look at Joe with a concerned face. "You don't have a weak heart or anything, do you?"

oOo

Thirty minutes later, Joe's mind was reeling; he knew all about John's initial encounter with the iratus bug, as well as his near conversion into one and he was starting feel physically ill. At first he'd been angry that John had kept the events from him, but as Rodney described detail after excruciating detail, Joe began to understand why John hadn't wanted to talk about certain things. No wonder the boy couldn't sleep for the nightmares.

Joe was somewhat relieved when Mark Wilson and George Stanford showed up, pulling him away from the tales Rodney McKay seemed to have gotten used to. He remembered John saying that Rodney tended to ramble endlessly when he was scared or worried, a trait Rodney himself had admitted to upon his arrival. Joe decided the man must be beside himself right now. When Rodney paused to look at the two men approaching them, Joe stood and took the opportunity to greet the teachers.

"Mr. Wilson, Mr. Stanford, this is Dr. Rodney McKay. He's a friend of John's and they work together. Dr. McKay, these are the teachers I was telling you about."

"Please, it's just Mark," said Wilson. "We just heard about John being attacked. How is he?"

Sighing, Joe looked at the floor a second before raising his eyes to meet those of the teachers. "Not so good, I'm afraid. They have him on a respirator right now and . . . he might . . . he's hanging on for the moment." Joe took a deep shuddering breath, the emotions from before beginning to make a comeback and threatening to overwhelm him again.

Stanford stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. "John's strong, he always has been. Don't give up on him."

"I won't," Joe said, frowning. "I did that to him once before, but never again. I'll be here for him this time, whatever happens. You can count on that."

Giving a small smile and a single nod, George said, "I know you will. John was happy with the progress the two of you have made on patching up your relationship. However this turns out, you have to know that was important to him."

"I do," Joe croaked weakly. "It's been important to me too."

Stanford turned to Rodney, who was looking decidedly uncomfortable. "Dr. Rodney McKay. I think I remember John mentioning you when he talked to my class. It sounds like you've been a good friend to him and we appreciate that. John doesn't make real friends very easily, or at least he didn't used to."

Rodney smiled proudly. "Yes, well, we've noticed that. We kind of have a deal going where we save each other's life. It works. Well, unless he goes off on what is supposed to be a harmless vacation and gets himself beaten to a pulp."

"We heard it was Josh Byers and his two yes-men," commented Wilson.

Joe nodded. "Cowards. They caught John at home by himself and attacked him. How low do you have to be to attack an injured man three against one? I hope they throw away the key."

Rodney snorted. "Personally, I'd like to lock them in a room with a Wra… um…Ronon and Teyla." He smiled, thinking of the results that would undoubtedly produce. "Yeah, that would be sweet."

"They also work with John," explained Joe. "Part of his team and also very good friends. John said his team had become like his family over the last three years."

"He actually said that?" asked Rodney.

Joe smiled. "You sound surprised."

"Well, not surprised that we're like family, because a lot of us are. Just surprised that he admitted that out loud. He and I . . . well, we're not good at the talking thing."

"Yeah, he told me that too," Joe said with a nod.

Rodney shook his head in amazement. "Wow, you've really loosened his tongue. He never talks this much to anyone. It took a year to get anything other his name, rank, and serial number out of him. You're good."

"No . . . I'm his father."

"Colonel Sheppard?" All four men turned to look at the nurse standing a few feet away. "We have your son settled now, so you can go in."

"Thank you," Joe said. He took a deep breath and led the way back into the ICU. It was still a few minutes until the evening visiting hours officially began, but no one stopped the group as they quietly entered the room. The first thing Joe noticed was that John looked exactly like he had before everything had gone wonky and that comforted him. Looking around at the others who had come with him, he saw shocked expressions on the faces of the two teachers. Rodney, however, remained expressionless, like he'd known what to expect. He thought back to the picture he'd seen of John in the infirmary, the one that Rodney had taken. Yes, he had known what to expect.

He stood back, watching as Rodney approached John's side. A nurse remained on the other side and seemed to be watching the monitors. Rodney sighed and gripped the rail tightly. "Stupid fly boy, how many times are you going to do this," he said quietly. "You're luck's going to run out one of these days." He reached out and lightly touched John's arm. "Carson and Elizabeth are going to ground you for the rest of your tour and lock you in your quarters when you get back, or maybe the infirmary."

Rodney watched John for several minutes without saying anything, before looking up at the nurse and snapping his fingers at her. "You there, I'm going to need to get some information to send the people we work for, doctor's name and phone number and such, any other voodoo rituals you've put him through."

The nurse took a deep breath and pursed her lips, but her reaction was lost on Rodney, who'd turned his whole attention back to stare at his friend, so still and deathly pale.

"You can check at the desk" she answered icily. "Ask for Debbie and I'm sure she'll get just what you need."

Rodney pulled his hand back from John's arm and started to turn away, but then looked back at the nurse, oblivious of her ire. "He's going to be okay, right?"

She shrugged her shoulders, her expression noncommittal. His abrupt change of tone from acidic to worried apparently caught her off guard. "We hope so."

Rodney let out a long breath and turned to face Joe. "Yet more meaningless answers. They even have the nursing staff trained." Taking a few steps toward Joe, he motioned toward the door. "I've got to go call the . . . " he trailed off as he glanced at Wilson and Stanford. "Uh, call the bosses and give them an update. I'll be back in a few. Don't let him… or them…. do anything stupid while I'm gone." With that, he was out the door.

Joe looked around at the teachers standing near him. "I guess he's an acquired taste."

oOo

Jack and Mary came by a few minutes after John's old teachers had gone and Joe carefully introduced them to Rodney, wishing he'd had time to foreworn them of his frankness before they'd actually met. There was little to worry about and they talked softly, keeping an eye on John's still form. Eventually they turned their attention to Joe, ganging up on him, all of them encouraging him to go home and try to get some rest. After some whispered arguments and much cajoling, Joe finally agreed. He was dead tired and he was getting too old to go for two days with no sleep. Part of him was still terrified to leave, but he somehow felt better that Rodney was here. The man was apparently well experienced in the art of bedside vigils and hadn't lost John yet. For some reason he felt an odd comfort that this man wouldn't _let_ anything happen, that John was safe in his care.

It was almost nine pm when Joe finally left with Jack and Mary, leaving instructions with Rodney to call if there was any change in either direction. He took John's cell phone since the number was already programmed into Rodney's phone. As they left the room and walked down the hall, he encountered Detective Knighten at the nurse's station.

"Isaac, are you looking for me?"

Isaac turned around and smiled upon seeing Joe. "Yes, as a matter of fact I am. I wanted to know how your son is doing. I know it's late, but I just finally got away from the station."

Joe shook hands with the man as he talked and then stepped back to cross his arms. "He's…. he's had…. Well… he's holding on, but . . . they aren't sure yet if he'll . . . " Joe just let his gaze drop to the floor.

Isaac placed a strong hand on Joe's arm. "I understand. Joe . . . I'm really sorry about all this. I hope your son pulls through, I really do."

Unable to speak, Joe just nodded, suddenly feeling like there was something stuck in his throat.

"Is there anything new in the case?" asked Jack.

Sighing loudly, Isaac bowed his head and rubbed his temple a few seconds. "That's another reason I needed to see you. Josh Byers is denying the whole thing, says it's mistaken identity or people picking on him or anything but him being the one to put your son in the hospital. Now I think with John and Jack's statement, we'll have enough, but I just want to be sure. I don't want him walking again. The forensics unit needs to search your place for evidence that will connect Byers to the scene."

Joe grimaced and shook his head. "Like I said, coward all the way. Of course, whatever it takes; the only thing I actually had time to dispose of was the broken glass and smaller debris. The splintered furniture is just stacked in the corners for now. I'm headed home right now, but I'll be coming back up here early in the morning."

"I can let them in," volunteered Jack. "I'm right across the street and we have a key. I'll make sure I'm home to let them in whenever they need to be there."

Isaac nodded. "Good. Give me your number and I'll have them give you a call. We're a bit short-handed and backed up right now, but in light of John's condition, it's become a priority."

"No problem," said Joe. "Cleaning house isn't exactly at the top of my list of important things to do at the moment."

"I understand," said Isaac. "I really hope everything works out okay; I'll be keeping you posted."

Isaac squeezed Joe's shoulder again and nodded, there wasn't anything left to be said.

oOo

Joe stood in the doorway of his home for several minutes, looking at the disaster that used to his living room and running the events of the past few days through his head. In his bedroom he pulled out the photo album his wife had kept organized before her death and took it to the kitchen.

He spent the next hour looking through photos of a life he lived long ago, sometimes chuckling and sometimes feeling the moisture threaten to spill over his lower lids. When he closed the book, he realized he had very few pictures of his son after the age of twelve and most, if not all of them, had been given to him by others. He pulled them from a small box, looking through school pictures and precious snapshots. Joe also found a few newspaper clippings he'd forgotten he had. One was John winning a math contest and one was a clipping about a school baseball game with a picture of John sliding into third base. The last one was a picture of all the honor graduates from John's graduating class. John had barely squeaked in, raising his GPA just enough in the last semester to make it. Joe marveled at how his own son managed to look so young and so old at the same time. No, not old, but worn. That was a sad thing to see in the face of teenager.

Sighing, he pulled the pictures John had brought out of their envelope and looked through them again, remembering the names of people he had identified. Rodney, Ronon, Teyla, Elizabeth, and Carson. John's current family, one that had chosen to care for him because he was who he was. Joe was grateful for the fact that his son had finally found a real home; and true family. Joe hadn't qualified for that in a long time.

He stared at the picture of John in the infirmary, the first one that Rodney had taken, when John looked almost as bad as he did now. He thought of all the pain John had overcome in the last few weeks to get where he was, and now he'd be starting all over. Joe groaned, wishing he could spare him that fate. He looked at the next photo and then the next, showing gradual improvement in John's healing body. It would happen again. He would heal and get better. John would be all right, he had to be.

Joe tucked the pictures away and turned off the kitchen light. After a hot shower, he climbed into bed and lay looking toward the ceiling of the darkened room, waiting for the phone next to the bed to ring. At first he was wired, his heart thumping in his chest. As more time crept by and the phone remained silent, he began to slowly relax until exhaustion overtook worry and he fell asleep.

Time must have flown by, literally, because he felt like he'd just dozed off when he opened his eyes to the gray light of dawn. He was pretty sure he hadn't moved all night. Joe sat up and rubbed his face, looking at the phone to make sure he hadn't missed any calls. He hadn't. Joe smiled and nodded. "Hang in there, son."

He was dressed a few minutes later and moving out the door, his body and mind both feeling numb. Joe started his car and began driving to the hospital, feeling like he was on autopilot. He stopped at a coffee shop on the way to the hospital and picked up a couple of large coffees, figuring both he and Rodney could use the caffeine.

The floor was quiet at such an early hour; he tried to smile, nodding at the nurses at the desk and they smiled back at him. He hoped that was a good sign. Pushing through the door to John's room, he found Rodney sitting beside the bed, typing madly on a laptop while having a one-sided conversation with John. The scientist paused and looked up at Joe's entry and then smiled brightly.

"You brought coffee."

Joe nodded as he walked over to hand a cup to Rodney. "I wasn't sure how you liked it, so I brought everything." He set down a small sack with some creams and sugars and stir sticks. "How's John? Any change?"

Rodney was busy fiddling with his coffee. "Hello, did I call you?"

Joe sipped the steaming beverage from the little slit in the lid. "No, not unless it didn't come through."

"Okay, then no change." Rodney looked up at Joe very seriously. "I would have called."

Joe looked at the man a moment before nodding. He looked around at his son and walked over to stand beside the bed. Reaching out, he touched John's hand, gently rubbing the skin but mindful of the IV. He'd been so afraid he would come back to find John gone, producing a driving need to touch his son, to feel his warm skin beneath his fingers and prove that John still lived.

He looked at what he could see of John's face around the ventilator tube. "I love you, son. Never doubt that," he said quietly. He stood there for several moments, unwilling to break the contact he'd longed for. Movement beside him brought his attention back and one of the nurses peered up at him.

"Colonel . . . we need to check him."

"Oh, sure, I'm sorry." Joe stepped back out of the way, moving to the extra chair that had been set up beside Rodney's. He watched as two nurses carefully checked all the monitors and lines and changed out a nearly empty IV bag. He lost track of their actions, just focusing on the fact that they were keeping John alive, giving him a chance to recover and go on with his life. Tears threatened to blur his vision again, hearing for the first time the gentle way the nurses spoke to their patient, telling him what they were doing, giving his hand a gentle squeeze from time to time. He wanted to hug them for their compassion. He knew it was their job, but this was beyond a nine-to-fiver.

A few minutes later, one of the nurses stopped by Joe on her way out of the room. "He's still holding on, Colonel. His blood pressure is up a little bit, which is encouraging."

Joe nodded to the petit girl. "Thank you, Gina, I appreciate the encouragement. I guess the doctor will be in after while?"

She nodded. "Yes, he should check in shortly. Do you need anything?"

"No, we're fine. I'll just wait for the doctor."

"Food would be nice," commented Rodney. He looked up to see the two looking at him. "What? I get hypoglycemic. Oh, never mind. I'll get something after we talk to the doctor."

Gina looked at Joe with a stern expression. "You need to eat as well. I bet you didn't eat any breakfast."

He held up his paper cup. "All I need is coffee."

Placing her hands on her hips, Gina shook her head. "No it isn't. You won't do your son any good if you get sick yourself. You go get breakfast after you talk to the doctor. We'll keep an eye on John for you. That's an order."

Joe smiled, amazed at how some of the nurses had almost adopted him in the short time they'd been here. "I think I outrank you."

"Nope, it doesn't work that way around here. And you're retired. I'll be back to make sure you eat. I'll bet I can get Dr. McKay to drag you down to the cafeteria."

Rodney sighed and threw up his hands. "Why not? I'm used to dragging a Sheppard to food and badgering him into eating. What is it with your family and eating, anyway?"

Joe smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "We aren't hungry when we're stressed. Doesn't sit well. His mom was the same way."

"No wonder you're all skinny," complained Rodney. "We didn't even have time to fatten Fly-Boy up from his last round of being beaten and starved and here he is again." Rodney got quiet a moment before continuing. "I really wish he'd stop this."

Joe looked at John, surrounded by machines that were either keeping him alive or monitoring his fragile condition. He thought once again of the pictures he'd seen and the pain John had yet to face, if and when his condition improved. "He probably wishes that too."

Rodney followed his line of sight, the only sound for a few moments that of the machines, the only motion the slow rise and fall of John's chest. "I need to eat."

TBC

_See, no cliffhanger. I'm cured!_


	12. Chapter 12

**Note: **If I missed answering your review, I apologize. I had a problem accessing fanfiction Monday night when I tried to reply, so some of the ones I clicked on in my email looked answered when they weren't. I tried to go back and catch them, but I'm afraid I may have missed some. And that threw me way behind at a time when I'm running with my tongue hanging out, so I also apologize for taking forever to reply to some of you. Many, many thanks for all the support. I go into shock every time I post a new chapter.

**Going Home - Chapter 12**

The doctor reported that John's pressure was definitely better, along with his breathing. He then joined with the nurses, insisting that Joe and Rodney go eat something to eat while the staff tended to things that needed to be done. The two men finally gave in and ate breakfast in the cafeteria before returning to their bedside vigil.

By mid-afternoon, Joe knew that something was up. The flow of nurses in and out of John's room had been constant, steadily increasing Joe's level of concern. When he asked what was going on, they all gave hesitant reports that John's pressure had improved or that overall he seemed to be doing slightly better. This prompted another tirade from Rodney, who threatened to call General O'Neill for someone medical that might know what they were doing. Joe was never so relieved as when Dr. Shoemaker walked into the room.

"Dr. Shoemaker, please, tell me what's going on," pleaded Joe. "The nurses are trying to be comforting without really telling me anything. I need to know . . . honestly . . . what John's condition is." Rodney stood just behind him and the scientist's unusual silence spoke loudly of his fear.

Shoemaker smiled. "I've looked at his chart and spoken to the nurses, but give me a minute to check on John myself and then we'll talk. Why don't you two go down and get a cup of coffee and by the time you get back, I'll be ready."

Rodney rubbed his face gruffly and sighed. "I hate this."

Joe bit his lower lip, but nodded. "All right. But please . . . I need some straight answers. This waiting and being kept in the dark . . . it's worse than just about anything you could tell me. I'm starting to imagine the worst."

"I understand, Colonel Sheppard. We'll sit down and talk when you get back."

Joe turned to Rodney and motioned toward the door. "Let's get a cup of coffee."

When they returned a few minutes later, Dr. Shoemaker was talking to one of the nurses as they stood beside John's bed. When they finished, she smiled and nodded at the two men as she passed by, giving Joe cause to hope for good news.

"Colonel Sheppard, Dr. McKay, why don't you two have a seat." The doctor pointed to the two chairs beside the bed as he dragged up a smaller chair from the corner to face them. "Colonel, I'm sorry the staff has worried you with their cryptic replies to your questions, but they didn't want to raise hopes prematurely. John's pressure and breathing have been slowly, but steadily improving since early this morning. I think the trend has gone on long enough to say we're headed in the right direction and this isn't just a momentary change. As a matter of fact, if things continue as they are, we'll start weaning him from the respirator soon and may have him off by tomorrow afternoon or evening."

Joe let out a deep breath and brought his hand up to cover his face, not wanting to advertise the strong emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He was a little surprised at how badly he was shaking. John was getting better. He suddenly felt like his chest would explode with the rush of relief.

"Colonel, are you all right?"

Swallowing, Joe dropped his hand and took in another deep breath in an attempt to gain control over himself. He let the calm pulse through his body with his heartbeat as he had so many times before. "I'm fine. It's just . . . that's good news."

Dr. Shoemaker smiled and bobbed his head once. "Yes, it is. And I'm glad to be able to deliver it." He paused to look at Rodney. "As well as to be able to give you some real information instead of some vague hopes."

Rodney snorted and crossed his arms. "About time."

"Colonel, do you have any questions?"

Joe thought for a moment before looking back at the doctor. "Can you tell me that John is going to be okay? That he's going to recover from this?"

Shoemaker hesitated for a moment, wincing at the request. "I can't say for sure, yet, but with his latest improvements, I'd say it was probable. The human body is a very fragile thing at times and it's hard to know everything that's going on inside. I don't want to guarantee something just because I think that's what's going to happen. I've seen that last minute crisis turn things around in the other direction too many times. I won't do that to you."

Joe nodded in understanding. "I think I understand. I've sent men into situations I thought would be simple and safe, only to have them ambushed and end up injured or dead."

"I can't count the number of cakewalk missions we've barely been able to limp back from, and sometimes we didn't all make it back," added Rodney, his eyes dropping down to the floor.

"Exactly," said the doctor. "Then you know why all I can do is tell you what I know, which is that John's condition is steadily improving, which makes his chance at recovery substantially better than before."

Joe nodded. "Thank you doctor, for everything you've done for John."

Shoemaker smiled as he stood up. "No problem, Colonel. I'm glad things are beginning to look up. You're son's been through a lot and he's got a long, painful road ahead of him. I know he'll need a lot of support, but it looks like the two of you have that covered. That can make all the difference, especially when two traumatic events come so close together."

"He's got a lot in the family support area," said Rodney. "And we're experienced with the recovery process . . . a little too experienced," he said, thrusting his cast forward a few inches for emphasis."

Shoemaker nodded solemnly. "We'll be keeping a pretty close check on him the next few hours, especially as we start weaning him from the respirator, so don't think something is wrong because of the increased activity. It's normal. If anything appears otherwise, I'll let you know."

"Good enough," said Joe.

Dr. Shoemaker gave them each a nod and left the room. Joe walked over to stand beside his son, looking down at the pale, bruised face. "You keep fighting, son. Just keep right on fighting."

oOo

Just after dinner, Jack and Mary stopped by to report that the police had been in Joe's house most of the day. They were pleased to learn that John's condition had improved enough that he might be taken off the ventilator the next day. After much discussion and badgering, it was decided that Rodney needed to find a bed to sleep in and Joe insisted he use John's room. Jack then insisted on driving the two men home so Joe could get Rodney settled, while Mary stayed with John. Then, Jack could drive Joe back to the hospital and pick up Mary. One of them would then return Rodney to the hospital the next morning. There had been a brief attempt to get both men to go home and sleep, but it quickly became apparent to everyone that that particular scenario just wasn't happening.

Prior to arriving at the house, Joe had explained to the scientist what had occurred at the residence and that most of the mess had yet to be cleaned up. However, Rodney was still taken aback at the sight of the man's living room. Joe seemed a bit shocked as well, since he just stood beside the open door, staring at the debris strewn all over the floor.

"We had it kind of picked up and deposited in the corners," said the older man, running his hand through his hair in a move the looked familiar to Rodney. "I guess the police had to spread it all out to look for evidence. What a mess."

"Joe, don't worry about the mess." Jack offered. "Now that the police are done, Mary and I will straighten up for you,"

"No. it's my house and my mess. Just . . . leave it for later. I have more important things to tend to right now. I can clean after I'm sure John will be okay." Joe turned to Rodney. "Come with me and I'll show you John's room."

Rodney nodded and pulled his suitcase along behind him, dodging the stuff on the floor. Joe led him to a bedroom and they both stepped inside. The bed was made, but rumpled with a blanket on top, as if someone had been sleeping on top of the covers. Rodney remembered that John had gotten up and made his way to the kitchen before collapsing. John's suitcase sat in the corner, against the wall.

"I'll just get you some clean sheets," Joe said as he turned to leave the bedroom.

"Don't worry about it," said Rodney. "I don't mind and I think we're both too tired to bother with it. I've slept on cold prison floors infested with all kinds of weird creatures and on the dirt and the rock-covered floor of damp, dark caves. This is as good as a five star hotel in my book."

Joe gave a small, appreciative smile and nodded. "Okay. There's food in the frig and the cabinets, coffee, snacks, just help yourself to anything you want. I still have John's phone, so call if you need anything or have questions."

Rodney nodded. "And I know you know how to get hold of me if anything happens during the night. Call with any change in either direction."

Joe returned the nod. "I know, I will."

Jack took a step into the room from where he'd been standing in the doorway. "Mary and I are across the street if you need us. I'll leave my number on the kitchen table. Call at any hour."

"Uh, thanks," said Rodney. He was beginning to realize just how close Joe was to these people. He found himself glad that John's father had people close by to keep an eye on him and help him when it was needed. Everyone should have people they could lean on. It had taken moving to another galaxy for him to learn that lesson.

"Joe, I'm going to run across the street for a minute before we head back. Why don't you take a shower and change clothes while we're here. And don't worry, Mary will call if there's any change."

Joe rubbed the back of his neck and Rodney almost laughed at the resemblance to his son. "I think I will. Rodney, why don't you look around and let me know if you need anything before I leave. And whatever you do, don't worry about picking any of that junk up. I'll take care of it later."

"Don't worry, I won't touch it," said Rodney. He didn't mention that the thought of cleaning the shattered furniture had never even occurred to him.

oOo

The next afternoon, Rodney and Joe found themselves relegated to the waiting room as John was removed from the ventilator. Rodney had demanded to stay, insisting that it wasn't anything he hadn't witnessed before. He quickly found out that regulations at a military hospital were enforced more stringently than in Atlantis as he was sternly escorted from the room and the door closed in his face.

Once in the waiting room, the astrophysicist paced restlessly back and forth. "They said it wouldn't take long," Joe offered.

Coming to a stop, the scientist looked down at the seated man. "It won't. I just have problems with sitting still, even under the best of circumstances."

Joe watched as John's friend resumed pacing. "How often . . . how many times has John been seriously injured?'

Rodney stopped again, this time just staring ahead. "I don't actually know. I don't want to know." He turned to Joe and walked over to sit beside him. "I doubt either of us wants to know."

"Too many, then," said Joe. "What about you?"

"Not as often, since I'm usually not trying to save everyone in the world with no regard to myself, but . . . too much." Rodney sighed as he ran one hand through his hair and then rubbed the side of his face. "I had no idea when we left . . . well, that isn't exactly true. I knew it wouldn't be a walk in the park, so to speak, but I didn't realize the full extent of the danger out there."

Joe sat looking at his hands as he listened to the man beside him. "Would you have gone if you'd known?"

"Maybe . . . I'm not sure. I really wanted to go but I have this . . . strong self-protection streak."

"What about now? If you could go back in time and not go there, would you change your decision?"

A small smile crept across Rodney's face. "Not on your life. Half the time, I'm scared out of my mind, but . . . the other half . . . I'm living a dream."

Joe smiled and gave a short nod. "John said pretty much the same thing. He also says you've saved many lives out there, the whole city a few times. He told me you saved his life on more than one occasion. I'd just like to thank you for that. From what he's told me of your actions, you don't sound like someone out to save his own hide."

"Yes, well," Rodney shrugged his shoulder, "I guess maybe the Colonel has rubbed off on me a little."

"Why do you do that?"

Rodney frowned slightly as he looked at Joe. "Do what?"

"You call John Colonel or Sheppard, you never call him John."

Rodney looked confused for a second and then shook his head. "I don't know, I just do. I call a lot of people by their last names, it's easier somehow."

Joe looked at him a minute. "I guess John's not the only one that builds walls around himself."

Rodney was still contemplating that when the nurse came to get them.

oOo

Shifting in the bed drew the attention of both Rodney and Joe. Joe had been reading a book that Mary brought him and Rodney had been typing one-handed on his laptop. The doctor had told them that John might begin regaining consciousness now that they had extubated him because they had reduced the medication that had been keeping him under. That had been two hours ago. Now, as the signs of waking seemed to finally be making an appearance, the two men approached the bedside to watch the sleeping figure.

Joe was relieved to have the ventilator tube gone, replaced with a much smaller and less intrusive nasal cannula. A low moan accompanied the fluttering of John's eyelids.

"John, can you hear me? It's Dad. John, if you can, open your eyes for me so I can see that you're okay."

The eyelids twitched and another moan indicated the battle for consciousness currently going on.

"Colonel, it's Rodney. I came running from Canada to see how big a mess you've gotten yourself into this time. The least you can do is open your eyes for a minute."

The brow furrowed slightly as the twitching began again. Tiny slits appeared, barely showing a glint of eye beneath.

Joe smiled and squeezed his son's shoulder. "That's good, John. We just want to know that you're okay. We're here for you, son. We're right here."

John's eyes opened a little further, the slight jerking of his lids illustrating the difficulty of the task. "Mom?" His voice was so low and rough that if they had not been straining to hear, they would have missed it. Joe was pretty sure he felt the blood drain from his face, almost making him lightheaded.

"No, John . . . she's not here." His voice wasn't much louder than John's had been.

"Miss'er."

Joe sighed and blinked a few times to clear his vision. "Me too, son. Me too. I need you to get better, John. I need you to be strong for me."

"Hurssss," he slurred in response, followed by a short moan. John finally lost the battle and let his lids slide closed again. Joe stood frozen in place, watching the rise and fall of his son's chest. When he was certain that the rhythm would continue, he lifted his eyes to see Rodney watching John with almost the same intensity he had been.

"You okay, Rodney?"

Rodney shifted his gaze to meet Joe's. "Yeah," he said as he exhaled. "You?"

Joe smiled. "Yes, at least I think I will be." He let out a deep, shuddering breath. "He spoke . . . and I saw his eyes. He's coming back to us."

Rodney returned Joe's smile with a small nod. "He always does. And he'd better not pick now to start changing his MO."

oOo

It was several hours later, nearing nine pm, when John next woke up. First they noticed a slight change in the rhythm of the heart monitor. Then began the little shifts of his body, rustling the covers of the bed. They had just stood and begun to approach when one of the nurses came in to check on John.

"I think he might be waking up again," said Joe as the three of them came up to the bed, Joe and Rodney on one side and the nurse on the other. She quickly checked the monitor readings and adjusted the nasal cannula where they had slipped a little sideways.

"I think you're right," she said. "I'll have the doctor paged and get some ice chips. He may be a little more coherent this time." She quickly turned and hurried from the room.

Joe placed his hand on John's arm and squeezed lightly, trying to give his son something physical to hang onto in his efforts to wake up. "John, it's Dad. We're right here for you son, me and Rodney. Can you wake up for a minute?"

The restless movements stopped, but the shifting of his eyes under his lids increased as a moan escaped his lips. It was a sad, mournful sound that made Rodney flinch and swallow hard. Joe gripped his son's arm more firmly.

"John, please, wake up. I know you hurt son, but you have to hang in there."

John's eyes opened part way and then slammed shut before fluttering a few times. When they opened again, it was more slowly, but they stayed open about halfway. Joe leaned over so his son could see his face. "John, I'm here for you, son. Can you hear me?"

John opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but coughed instead, his face twisting in a grimace of pain. The nurse appeared about that time and slipped a couple of small ice chips into a plastic spoon. "Colonel, can you lift his head up just a little?"

Joe nodded and slid one hand beneath his son, gently lifting his head a couple of inches off the pillow. The nurse placed the spoon against John's lips. "Ice chips, John, just open your mouth."

John responded by opening just wide enough for the nurse to tilt the spoon and slide the small bits of ice into this mouth. "That's good." She nodded at Joe, who eased John back against the pillow. John groaned softly, his brow furrowed. Joe looked down to see his son's hand fisted around the edge of the blanket.

"It's okay, John, we're here. Just ride it out son."

John seemed to relax his grip a few seconds later and eased back a little further on the pillow. His eyes opened, once again making it to about halfway before his energy ran out. "Dad?" his rough voice croaked out.

Joe smiled and once again gripped his son's arm. "Yes, John, I'm here. You're doing great, son, just hang in a little longer."

The nurse took his hand and felt for the pulse in his wrist, checking even though the monitor recorded his heartbeats. "Try to stay awake for a few minutes, John, the doctor is on his way. He wants to have a look at you himself. And I want another look at those pretty eyes of yours," she said, her tone more encouraging than flirting.

"Can't let these pretty nurses down," said Joe, joining the nurse in the light teasing as they tried to keep him awake. Joe looked over at Rodney, amazed at how quiet the man had been. He'd thought for sure that Rodney wouldn't be able to resist this kind of kidding after the things he'd said so far. Joe was a little surprised at the expression of worry that lined the scientist's face.

"Rodney, what is it?"

Rodney placed a hand on John's leg, never taking his eyes from the pained face of his friend. "Colonel, what's wrong?"

Returning his gaze to John, Joe looked more closely at his son. Tiny beads of sweat had popped out on his forehead and his face somehow seemed even more pale that it had a few moments ago. His eyes were a little too moist, but Joe didn't know if that was from pain or something else. John's breathing hitched slightly.

"Can't," he whispered.

Joe frowned, trying to figure out what his son meant. "You can't what?"

John squeezed his eyes shut, moaning and arching slightly off the bed. Joe gripped his son's arm firmly as he looked to the nurse for help.

The nurse once again took John's hand in both of hers. "John, hang on just a little longer. The doctor will be here in a minute and he'll give you something for the pain. Just try to relax and ride it out."

"Come on, Colonel, you've done all this before and you can do it again," said Rodney, his expression saying the exact opposite of what his voice was.

"No," breathed John as he finally relaxed back into the bed. "Can't . . . not . . . 'gain."

Joe finally realized what his son was saying. "Yes, you can, soldier. You can do this. You can and you will." He knew his tone was more like a commanding officer than a father, but he was hoping John's strong military background would register the order as something he couldn't refuse.

John seemed to squint as he looked up at his father. "Sorry . . . Dad . . . can't . . . 'm weak." It seemed to take every bit of energy he had to utter those words, his voice so rough and scratchy that they knew it had to be painful.

Joe felt panic rising quickly within him. His son was giving up. He'd just gotten him back and he was giving up. There was no way he was letting that happen. "John, look, son, I know you're tired. You've been through a lot lately, but that doesn't make you weak. You just need some rest and some time to get back on your feet. Rodney and I, we'll be here for you every step of the way. Don't you give up on me. John, do you hear me? You can't give up."

The pilot's eyes were closed now, although his face was still tight with pain lines. A single tear escaped his right eye and rolled across his temple, disappearing into his hairline. "Just . . . can't . . . an'more. Too . . . tired . . . hurts . . . t'much."

"Colonel Sheppard?"

Joe was speechless. He had expected a lot of things to happen, had wished for a few more. But nowhere in those musing had the thought of John giving up occurred to him. "What?" he asked, as he looked up, his mind almost unable to process what was happening. Dr. Arnold stood behind the nurse and Joe couldn't help but wonder at what point he had come in. The grim expression on the doctor's face told him he'd heard what John had said.

"Colonel Sheppard, I need you and Dr. McKay to wait outside while I check John over and then I'll come talk to you."

"No," Joe shook his head. "I'm staying with my son. He's hurting . . . he needs me." His voice squeaked a little at the end as his emotions whirled beyond his control.

"Colonel, I need you to wait outside. When I'm done I can give your son some pain medication, but I need to talk to him a moment first. Please, go with Dr. McKay."

Joe felt his arm being tugged and was shocked to see Rodney pulling on him, his jaw tight with reined in emotion. "Come on, we need to go. The sooner we get out of here, the sooner John gets something to help with the pain. And he really needs that right now." Joe had never thought he'd hear that pleading tone from probably the most abrasive human he'd ever met. John moaned again and it was the most pitiful sound he remembered hearing. With a bit of horror, he realized he was prolonging his son's agony. He let Rodney pull him toward the door; feeling like his body wasn't completely connected to his brain.

The next thing he knew, he was in the waiting room with Rodney and he didn't even remember getting here. He was sitting in one of the chairs, a half dozen people scattered around the room, mostly waiting in pairs. He heard Rodney's voice and turned to see the man on his cell phone, his expression more worried than when John was on the ventilator.

"I need to talk to Elizabeth, not send her a message. You people can dial to another galaxy, there's got to be some way to patch her into a phone. We . . . we have a real problem here." Rodney paused a second and then nodded. "Well, finally. Call me as soon as you get it set up. Did I mention this was an emergency and I needed this done yesterday?" Another pause while Rodney ran a hand through his hair. "Okay, then, as soon as it's set up." He snapped the phone shut a bit angrily and turned to look at Joe.

"It's a wonder these people can find their butt so they can wipe it. Actually, now that I think about it, maybe they don't." He stared at Joe's wide-eyed expression. "What?"

Joe looked at Rodney, his expression blank. "In the room . . . you called him John."

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

**Note:** There is a brief reference to Silent Sacrfice, a Daring Duo story that Shelly and I co-authored, but you don't need to have read the story to understand.

**Going Home – Chapter 13**

The moment Dr. Arnold entered the waiting room, Joe immediately stood up. He sensed Rodney doing the same beside him as the doctor approached. Dr. Arnold motioned to the chairs they had just vacated. "Let's sit down a minute."

"Well," Rodney snorted loudly as he plopped down heavily into a nearby seat, "_that's _never good."

Joe was rather grateful for the invitation to sit since his legs felt weak and wobbly beneath him. "Is John all right?" he asked as the doctor took the seat next to him.

After settling back in the padded chair, the physician let out a short breath and looked at the retired colonel. "He's doing well physically, his vital signs improving steadily. I know you're worried about his mental status after what he said and I just wanted to speak to you about that. Since I've been helping with his care, Dr. Shoemaker has shared his medical records with me and I know that he recently suffered severe injuries."

Joe nodded. "Yes, he was captured and tortured by enemy soldiers for thirteen days before he was rescued by his people. He's been home with me the last few days while he recovered. I know he's been tired and hurting off and on, even before the trouble with Josh Byers."

"It's not uncommon for people who suffer serious illness or injury soon after a hard recovery to become tired and depressed. The constant pain, weakness, and struggle of recovery can be a drain, and when faced with repeating it soon after a patient thinks they're past the hard part can be very stressful. The colonel just spent the last few weeks trying to work his way back up to walking and moving without a lot of discomfort and now he's been pushed even farther back than his starting point. Sometimes the thought of doing it all again is just too much."

Rodney let out a long sigh and leaned against the back of the chair. "Oh, crap."

Joe turned to look at the troubled face. "What?"

The scientist rubbed his face as he stared across the room. "He'd only been on active duty for four or five weeks when he was captured. He and Ronon and I crashed in a pud . . . uh, crashed our ship in a remote area and it took them a while to find us."

Dr. Arnold leaned forward to look around Joe and see Rodney better. "That's not in the records we received. Was the Colonel badly injured in the crash?"

"Some cracked ribs and really bad concussion, but he was the only mobile one and we had very little food and water. He kept giving us his food and telling us he'd already eaten. And he threw up a lot, I think because of the concussion. By the time they found us, he was almost starved to death. It took a long time before he got straightened out from that." Rodney looked at the doctor with sad eyes. "So add that to his prolonged recovery and what do you get?"

"Oh, God," Joe whispered.

"The reason why he's having such a hard time with this," said Dr. Arnold. "He's going to need a lot of encouragement and support."

"Help's on the way," said Rodney. He looked at Joe. "Ronon and Teyla are coming."

Joe was shocked, his eyebrows rising to reflect his doubt. "They can do that?"

Rodney gave a small, tired smile. "They can when it's this important. Elizabeth pulled a few strings. He needs us right now."

"Ronon and Teyla?" inquired Dr. Arnold.

"Friends," replied Rodney.

"More like family," said Joe, remembering the way John had talked about his team. "I think their presence will help a lot."

Dr. Arnold nodded. "That's what he needs, friends and loved ones around him, offering encouragement and help, when needed. The trick is to be helpful while not making him feel helpless. To show him you're concerned without smothering him. It's a fine line and it can be harder to walk that you think."

"Been there, done that," said Rodney arrogantly, crossing his arms. "Several times." When the two men stared at him, he dropped his arms and shrugged his shoulders. "I didn't say I was good at it, just that I'd done it."

Joe ran his hand along the back of his neck, rubbing absently. "How's John been lately? Did he seem okay before those people caught him?"

Rodney sighed and pursed his lips a second. "Tired . . . worn down. The Colonel used to bounce back from injuries almost as if nothing had happened. Carson used to accuse him of having super healing powers. But the last few months . . . I don't know. It just seems to take longer and longer for him to get back on his feet. And he's different . . . more subdued . . . too quiet. I think that's the reason they made him come home for a while this time. When he's in . . . when he's on the base, he keeps trying to work, to make sure everything is okay. And he takes every death, every loss personally, almost as if it's his fault."

"Sounds like he's headed for a breakdown if someone doesn't intervene," said Arnold. "Has he talked to anyone on base? Do you have a psychiatrist available?"

"Uh," Rodney smiled and looked at Joe, "we have one but the Colonel isn't much of a talker. She says he talks, but doesn't say anything."

Joe grinned. "I can imagine."

Arnold didn't look quite so amused. "Well, that needs to change or he may not be going back. What I'm seeing and hearing are the signs of some serious problems. He's both physically and mentally exhausted from the sound of it."

Rodney's expression hardened as he glared at the doctor. "We can take care of him. We take care of each other. You have no idea what we've survived the last three years. We're all tired. But we get through it together." After confidently making his statement, Rodney suddenly slumped in the chair and looked down, obviously uncomfortable. Joe reached over and placed a firm hand on his shoulder, startling the man.

"Well said, Rodney," he said softly. Although John had not stated it quite the way Rodney had, the things he had shared with his father had displayed the same sentiment.

"Yes, well, we're a team and teams take care of their own." He only hoped that was enough this time.

oOo

They had been watching John all day. He'd come to twice more, but had just let his eyes wander the room a time or two and then closed them again. No response to their voices or their touches, no recognition of his father or his friend. The nurse who had been present for one of the events assured them it was normal for someone with his degree of injuries.

Shortly after dinner, John opened his eyes for a third time, prompting Joe and Rodney to flock to his bedside. His eyes stayed open this time, seeming to focus on his father as he talked to him.

"John, I'm here, son, I'm here. Just hold on. Are you in pain? Should I get the doctor?"

"Dad?" John's voice was so soft they barely heard it.

"Yes, John, yes, it's me," Joe said, excitement tingeing his voice as he grabbed John's wrist and squeezed. "I'm right here with you and so is Rodney."

Confusion clouded his face and he shifted his head slightly to look at his friend. "Ro'ney?"

"Naturally," Rodney said with a small smile. "You're father calls and tells me you've gotten yourself beaten to a bloody pulp. What else was I supposed to do? The least you could do is stay out of trouble for a week while I visit my sister."

The pilot seemed to process this a moment, then blinking slowly, a small furrow formed on his brow. "S . . . s'rry."

"It's all right." Rodney's small smile dissolved as he shifted his feet nervously. "They were starting to get on my nerves. I should probably thank you for rescuing me."

One corner of John's mouth twitched. "Wel . . . come."

"John . . ." Joe tightened his grip on his son. "About what you said earlier . . . about not being able to do this again . . . I just want you to know, we're here for you. You're strong, you always have been. You got that from your mother. I know you can do this. It's going to be hard, but you'll get better."

John shifted his gaze back to his father, his brow creasing further. "Don't . . . 'member. Said . . . what?"

Eyes wide, Joe glanced at Rodney, seeing the uncertainty he felt in the doctor's face. "You woke for a few minutes this morning and said you were tired, that you couldn't do this again. And then you said you were sorry."

The pilot's eyes drooped for a few seconds and then he seemed to fight to get them back open. "Still . . . don't re . . . member." His eyes held those of his father for a long time. "Dad . . . I'm . . . 'kay."

Joe nodded, accepting the fact that his son might not remember what he'd said, but not that he was okay. "So you aren't giving up?"

"Nah . . ." John's mouth quirked up again, "'m a Sheppard."

Almost choking on the knot in his throat, Joe swallowed,. "Just remember that, son, because I plan to hold you to it." His stomach churned with the pain and doubt he saw in his son's face, contrasting sharply with the confidant words. The exhaustion he'd seen earlier was still very evident.

"I'm 'kay, Dad," John said, his lids twitching with the effort to keep them open. One eye jerked a little more, making it look like a weak wink before his eyes finally closed and stayed that way.

"Well, that went well," said Rodney, his voice slightly higher in pitch than normal. He lifted his eyes to meet Joe's. "Have I mentioned what a liar your son is?"

oOo

"Rodney?"

Joe's head jerked up at the soft, lilting voice. He opened his eyes to see a woman with bronze skin and dark eyes gripping Rodney by the shoulder. A huge man in dreadlocks stood behind her, his eyes fixed on John before moving over to Joe.

"You Sheppard's father?" asked the large man, his voice deep, but quiet.

Before answering, Joe sat up straighter in the chair he'd dozed off in and nodded. "I'm Joe Sheppard. You must be Ronon and Teyla. John told me about you before . . . " He faltered, unable to finish the sentence. He was glad to see that Rodney was yawning and stretching.

"What . . . I'm fine, just resting my eyes . . . " Rodney looked up at Teyla and Ronon. "Oh . . . you're here. What time is it?" He began trying to see his watch, his movements sluggish and clumsy with sleep.

"0600," said Ronon. Joe couldn't help but wonder about the large man's acclimation to Earth's mode of time telling. His clothing and hair were strange, but wouldn't stand out as much in California as some other places. He almost felt giddy at the realization that these two people, who didn't seem any different than anyone else, were not only not from Earth, but from an entirely different galaxy.

"Why is he staring at us?" asked Ronon, directing his question to Rodney.

Rodney glanced at Joe as he stood up, and then back to Ronon. "He's only known about the whole stargate thing for a few days, so he's never met aliens before. You two are his first acquaintances from another galaxy. For us Earthlings, that's a big deal."

"We hope you are recovering well, Rodney. We have missed you." Teyla dipped her head forward and Rodney looked a little startled. He licked his lips and then followed her move, touching his forehead to hers.

"Thanks for coming," Rodney said as the two straightened up. She nodded, a small smile on her lips.

Joe stood and walked over to Ronon, extending his hand. "I'm sorry, Ronon, I didn't mean to stare. It's just that John has told me so much about you and Teyla . . . I never thought I'd get to actually meet you."

The Setedan stared at the proffered hand a second and then grabbed his arm just above the wrist. Joe adapted to grasp Ronon's arm in similar fashion. "I'm honored to meet you. Your son is good soldier," he said.

"Thank you," Joe replied as they released their grip. He turned back to look at John as his son shifted and moaned quietly in his sleep. "He's . . . he's struggling right now." He turned back to find Teyla had moved to stand in front of him.

"I am Teyla Emmagan of the Athosians. John let the survivors among my people take refuge with his people and then found us another home. He has been a good friend to me and to my people. We will do whatever we can to ease his recovery." She leaned her head forward as she had done with Rodney, so Joe copied her actions until their heads touched briefly.

"Thank you both for coming. I know John thinks of you all as family. He's . . . he needs us right now, all of us."

Teyla nodded. "Elizabeth told us what has happened. He will have our strength to help him through. We cannot remove his pain, but we can help him bear it."

They all turned at the sound of the door opening. Dr. Shoemaker entered, walking beside a new doctor that Joe had never seen before. The new doctor was speaking with a very distinct Scottish accent. Rodney immediately answered the question that popped into Joe's head.

"Carson? Elizabeth let you come?" Rodney's eyes were wide with surprise, but Joe noticed an almost immediate change in his expression to one of relief.

"Aye, Rodney, she did. Things were a bit slow at the moment and we couldn't exactly send Ronon and Teyla off by themselves," he said, his eyes twinkling. "They don't know their way around this . . . country yet."

Rodney's eyes went down to Ronon's side, where he usually carried his blaster. "Thank goodness they didn't let you come armed. We'd all be in jail in no time."

Ronon just smiled and crossed his arms. "Armed is such a relative term."

Joe snickered, remembering John's tale of Ronon having knives hidden all over his body. This was one man he'd definitely like to have at his back. He turned his attention to where the two physicians were examining John while Dr. Shoemaker caught Dr. Beckett up on his patient's condition. The story was decidedly depressing except for the part about John's pressure and other vital signs improving over the last couple of days. Then he caught the last part of the update.

" . . . temperature was up a little this morning. I wanted to check his lungs again because I'm worried about an infection setting in."

"What?" asked Joe, moving up to stand beside Dr. Shoemaker as Rodney, Ronon, and Teyla joined them to stand around the bed. "What about his temperature and an infection? This is the first I've heard of this." He was upset that apparently problems were developing and he wasn't being kept in the loop. John was his _son_ and he deserved to know what was happening.

"I was just coming to talk to you about it when I ran into Dr. Beckett. When the nurse took his vital signs earlier, his temperature was up a bit. It's not much right now, but we need to watch it carefully. His immune system is bound to be weakened by his earlier ordeal and it hasn't had time to recover fully, leaving him open to infections that he would normally be able to fight off," said Dr. Shoemaker.

"Aye, it's to be expected," agreed Dr. Beckett. "He's already on antibiotics, but he's taken so much recently that it may be a resistant strain of something. We'll have to keep it in close check." Beckett seemed to notice the worried expression of his friends. "And we _will_ keep it in check."

Joe sighed and shook his head a few times slowly. John didn't need any more problems. Turning his attention to Dr. Beckett, he extended his hand. "I'm Joe Sheppard, John's father."

Taking his hand firmly, Beckett nodded. "I thought as much. I'm Carson Beckett. I've been the Colonel's physician the last three years. He's kept me a mite busy of late."

"So I've heard. Thank you for taking such good care of him. He's told me several times that he wouldn't be alive now if not for you."

A low moan caught their attention and his head snapped up to see John's eyes fluttering. He quickly reached out to take John's hand and grip it firmly. John's eyes moved over to meet his. He buried his fear and gave his son a small smile. "Hey, John, about time you woke up for a few minutes."

In obvious attempt to clear his vision, John blinked heavily. "Hey," he slurred softly. His eyes drifted to one side and his brows raised in response.

Teyla placed her hand firmly on the Colonel's leg and smiled. "We are here, John. We were worried about you, so we came to make sure you are all right."

A small smile twitched at one corner of John's mouth. "Thanks." His eyes moved to Ronon and the smile broadened. "You too . . . big guy?"

Ronon crossed his arms and grunted. "They had to have someone who could get you back on your feet. You're taking the laziness thing kind of far, aren't you?"

John snorted lightly. "Hey . . . whatever works."

"How are you feeling, Colonel?"

John shifted his head in the direction of the familiar voice, "Carson?"

"Aye, Colonel. Elizabeth and I felt that I should come see what you've gotten into this time. And we couldn't very well send Ronon and Teyla globetrotting unaccompanied, now could we? So, back to my question. How do you feel?"

Shifting a bit, he grimaced. His eyes seemed to roll around a bit before he got them back under control. "Hot . . . achy."

Carson nodded in understanding. "I'm afraid you've developed a bit of a fever. We're treating it and hope it won't get much worse, but you'll probably feel a bit off for a few days."

Smile gone, John's expression fell. "You mean . . . more off . . . than I already was."

Beckett sighed and looked down at his patient. "I'm sorry, Colonel. I know you've already been through a lot, but we're doing everything we can to help you."

"S'kay." John sighed and gave a small nod. He turned his head back to face his father. "Dad . . . just don't –" A coughing fit interrupted his sentence and his face tightened in pain as he fought to breathe through it.

Reflexively, John's hand gripped Joe's and the retired colonel held more tightly to his son, trying to give him something solid to hand onto as he struggled. Joe watched as the doctor raised the bed in an effort to ease John's attempt to pull in oxygen. Even after the coughing ended, John's ragged breathing was loud in the otherwise quiet room. Carson adjusted the nasal canula while the other doctor checked the setting.

The pilot's eyes opened for a moment and he blinked once before closing them again. "Tired," he whispered softly.

Joe swallowed and gave the limp hand in his a squeeze. "I know, son. I know."

oOo

John's sleep was restless for the rest of the day, making the room full of people nervous. In the throws of fever, he thrashed around and fought with the sheets, keeping the nursing staff busy trying to keep his lines untangled. His temperature hovered at 102, not dangerous, but keeping him uncomfortable and unable to get the rest he needed. Surrounded by friends and family now, they took turns talking to him, stroking his face with a cool rag, touching him so he knew they were there.

The few times he managed to open his eyes, they just roamed a bit, glassy and unfocused. His friends would talk to him and ask him questions, but he never responded. Joe wasn't sure if he was never really coherent enough or if he'd just withdrawn into himself. During his brief periods of apparent wakefulness, John's face was lined with pain, his hand often fisting the sheet or clutching the rail to ride out the periodically intense waves. Other than a muted grunt or a breathless moan, there was no sound from him.

At six, Dr. Beckett entered the room with Dr. Shoemaker and gathered everyone together. "I'm going to ask you all to do something hard. I want you to leave and stay gone for a minimum of two hours. I'd suggest you get something decent to eat since I know you've been living off the vending machines today."

Joe felt the worry and a bit of anger begin to rise up through his gut to his chest. "I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's going on." He knew John trusted these people and specifically, that he trusted Dr. Beckett. But he didn't know any of them and he wanted to be close to his son.

Beckett smiled at him, not angered at all by his response. "I know it sounds bad, Colonel Sheppard, but it isn't. We just need to examine the Colonel . . . uh, John, and evaluate his condition. We'd like to run a couple of tests, get him cleaned up a bit, and change his bandages. All of this will take at least a couple of hours and we don't need the lot of you underfoot. And I also happen to think you could use a couple of hours away from here and a decent meal. I promise to call if anything happens, but I'm not expecting it to or I wouldn't send you away like this."

Rodney sighed and gave a short nod. "Okay, Carson, we get it." He looked at Joe, who was watching him intently, trying to gauge his reaction. "I think we should go. If Carson says he'll be okay, then he will."

Joe thought about it and noticed for the first time how truly fatigued McKay looked. His shoulders were drooping and his eyes were dull with exhaustion. The scientist was also supposed to be recovering from injuries and he'd spent the last few days trying to rest in a chair while worrying about his friend. Joe rubbed the back of his neck and nodded. "Okay, we'll go." He suddenly looked up at the group. "I'm taking you all to dinner."

"What?" asked Rodney. "No, you don't have to do that."

Joe smiled and nodded. "Yes, yes I do. I'm taking you to the restaurant I took John to the other night. It's really good and has the best steaks and apple pie. When we were eating he said Ronon would love the place and he thought you'd like the apple pie. My car is outside and I insist that you let me treat you all to dinner. In return, you can tell me about what you've been doing with John these last few years."

They looked uncertain and Joe wasn't sure if it was because he was offering to buy them dinner or that they weren't comfortable talking about John without him there. "Please . . . John and I . . . haven't been close in a long time. We've been talking more these last few days than we ever did after his mother died. But there's still so much I don't know. I just . . . I really want to . . . " his voice cracked and trailed off, his emotions surging up as he thought once again about how close he'd come to losing his son.

"I want to know more about what happened here. I want to know who did this to him," said Ronon gruffly.

Joe nodded, thinking that was only fair. The only thing he'd told them so far was that some local ruffians had beat John up. He owed them the whole story. "I can do that."

"I would like to know more about how you and John drifted so far apart," said Teyla. "If that is not too personal. John has never talked much about his family. I was not even aware that he still had any."

Taking in a slow breath, Joe then let it out slowly, staring at the ground. "That's not surprising, considering. I guess since you have been his family the last few years, you deserve to know the truth."

Rodney smiled and patted Joe on the back. "It won't be so bad. We don't bite." He glanced over at Ronon. "Well, most of the time. Since you're feeding him, he should be safe."

"I'm not worried." Joe smiled. "You've taken care of my son for the last three years. You were there for him when he needed you, which is more than I ever did. As far as I'm concerned, I owe all of you a huge debt I could never even begin to repay."

Teyla reached out and took Joe's hand. "There is no debt. John is our friend and we are his. We all take care of each other. We are a team, a family. He would do the same for any of us, and has. I think Dr. Beckett is right. I believe we need to put some distance between us and this place for a short time, especially you and Rodney. You both seem tired."

Even so, leaving was still difficult and Joe cast a glance at his son, his chest tightening painfully. "Then we need to go now, before I change my mind." As a group, they moved forward and through the door, leaving John behind, but not their thoughts of him.

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

**Note: **Special note of thanks to Julie and Kathy for fixing several rough spots in this chapter as well as doing the beta thing. You guys rock.

**Going Home - Chapter 14**

Joe watched as the large platter of appetizers he'd ordered was set out on the table. He smiled when Ronon's eyes widened at the sight of the variety of food before him. Rodney immediately reached out to snag a potato skin loaded with cheese and bacon, while pointing to the chicken wings.

"You should try the wings, Ronon. Just try not to eat the bone in the middle. We don't want you hacking up bone splinters at the table."

The Setedan arched an eyebrow at the scientist even as he reached for a wing. "When I need your advice on how to eat, I'll ask for it."

Teyla frowned at them both and then looked at Joe apologetically. "I am sorry, Colonel Sheppard. Ronon and Rodney sometimes forget they are adults."

Joe grinned at the young woman, continuing to be impressed by her calm and diplomatic manner. "That's all right. Just remember who my son is."

Dipping her head once, a diminutive smile played across Teyla's lips. "Yes, I remember. John can be . . . trying sometimes as well."

Joe snorted and shook his head. "I can only imagine how the three of them are when they're together."

"It can be . . . interesting. But they are as family. I would not wish to do without any of them for very long. We have missed Rodney and John these past few days. Atlantis is not the same without them."

"Yeah, it's quieter," said Ronon with a chuckle as he wiped the sauce from his chin.

"Gee, how original," said Rodney in a monotone. "Your quick wit continually amazes me. Now that you're away, maybe the marines can recover enough to actually defend Atlantis."

They ate in silence for a few moments and Joe used the time to observe his son's friends. Ronon finished off the last chicken wing, leaving an empty platter in the center of the table. After licking the sauce from his fingers, he looked up at Joe.

"What happened to Sheppard?"

Joe sighed. Teyla and Rodney grew silent and still, waiting for him to relay the story. Joe told them about the visit to John's old high school and the series of events that had followed. He also told them about John's connection to Josh Byers from when they were teenagers and about Josh's recent history with the police. Although Rodney had heard the short version earlier, he hadn't heard all the details until now. Teyla and Rodney's expressions grew increasingly serious, but Ronon's reaction had Joe worrying. The man was furious.

"Where is this Josh Byers?" asked Ronon as he threw down his napkin.

"Jail, at least the last time I heard," answered Joe. "And his buddies too."

"Will he get out?" asked the big man, clenching his hands into tight fists as they lay on the table.

Joe shrugged his shoulders sadly. "If he makes bail, he could get out until the trial."

"I want to see him. I have something I want to tell him, or maybe show him," said Ronon firmly, a menacing glint in his eyes.

Rodney grimaced. "You know, that's probably not a good idea. I might have a hard time explaining to General O'Neill how I let you kill someone while you were out here."

Joe was thankful that Josh Byers was locked away in a cell. As much as part of him would like to see John's friend give the hoodlum a taste of his own medicine, he knew it would only cause more trouble in the long run. "It's okay, Ronon. I appreciate what you want to do and I wouldn't mind getting in a few licks myself, but it's better this way."

Teyla placed a hand on Ronon's arm and met his eyes. "John would not want you to cause trouble on his behalf. As Colonel Sheppard says, this is for the best."

"Please, call me Joe. You're John's family now and, in a way, that makes us family too."

The Athosian nodded, a soft smile curving her lips,"Thank you, Joe. I think John will be pleased that we have all been able to become aquainted. He does not talk of such things, but I can see that he feels them deeply."

Joe sighed and gave a short nod. "I guess that's my fault. I've never been very vocal about . . . well, you know, emotional stuff. His mom, she was the one that kept him talking."

"I would like to hear of John's mother," Teyla said. "If you do not mind talking about her."

The elder Sheppard frowned, "I haven't talked about Rachel in years," he replied softly. "Well, except for a few times with John the last couple of days. She was amazing, always happy, always positive. No matter what happened, she could find the silver lining. Even when she was dying . . . " Joe's voice trailed off as he felt the familiar surge of emotion. This was the main reason why he avoided talking about his wife.

Teyla reached over to take his hand and squeeze. "I am sorry. I had no right to ask you such a question. Please forgive me."

Joe took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "No, it's okay. I . . . just needed a minute. It's just that . . . it's been so long and the last couple of days have been so hard. John looks a lot like his mother. He has her eyes, her hair, her sense of humor when he's not tired and worn down. She and John . . . they were my life for a long time. Then, she was diagnosed with leukemia when John was eleven."

The retired Colonel was quiet a moment, then he suddenly chuckled, "She was always stubborn, a fighter. She went through chemotherapy and had a brief remission, but it didn't last long. She fought it for fifteen months before it finally took her from us. John was twelve, almost thirteen. They had been really close, probably because I was gone so much. He was so brave for her, but I could see in his eyes it was killing him, just like it was killing me. I didn't realize until after she was gone, but she had been the glue that held the family together. Without her, I was lost; I didn't know what to do. I was hurting and confused and . . . I didn't know how to comfort John. I couldn't seem to get over the pain of losing her and I was terrified of having to go through it again."

Gently, Teyla pressed his hand again, making him realize she was still holding it. "You pushed John away."

Dropping his gaze to the table in shame, Joe just nodded.. "After that . . . every time I looked at John . . . I saw his mother . . . and it hurt. I just . . . I couldn't deal with it. I know that's no excuse. It was cowardly and it was wrong. Everything John did, all I could see was what was wrong with it. All I could feel was disappointment. And now . . . looking back, I can't understand what was wrong with me. I can't believe what I put him through."

Unable to understand what had made him confess these things to a table full of strangers, Joe closed his eyes, . His face burned with embarrassment and he wished he could think of way to leave without making things worse. These were John's closest friends, the people who had cared for him the last three years. How could he look them in the eye again?

"Joe, what you did to John was not right, but it is understandable. You did not knowingly hurt him. You were afraid and confused and in pain. Some have done much worse under similar circumstances. John has turned into a fine man, a good friend and a well-respected leader. I think you have done well by him."

The table was silent for a few moments and Joe managed to lift his head, gathering all his courage so he could look at Teyla. "Thank you. I guess he did turn out all right, in spite of me."

"Well, except for the excessive almost-dying thing," said Rodney. When everyone looked at him, he bobbed his head once to the left. "What? You know it's true."

"Seems to me that you and John are a lot alike," observed Ronon.

Joe snorted when he looked up at the Satedan. "I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not."

The mood was broken by the arrival of their food. It took a couple of minutes to distribute the plates and refill everyone's glass. Joe looked over to Ronon's plate, a bit amazed at the sight of the "monster steak" that the big man had ordered. Even Rodney seemed mesmerized by the amount of meat.

"Can you eat all that?" asked Rodney, his eyes wide.

Ronon just grunted as he picked up the knife and fork. "Get your own food, McKay, 'cause you aren't getting any of this."

Joe glanced at Teyla and they both smiled at the exchange. Teyla nodded at him, comfort in her eyes that Joe appreciated. He was beginning to understand why his son depended on these people so much.

"Now it's your turn. I want to know all about Atlantis and puddle jumpers and, well, everything." Joe could feel his sadness turning around as he thought about finding out more about his son's life the past three years.

Rodney moaned in pleasure at the bite of steak he was chewing. When he swallowed, he glanced over at Joe. "That is the best steak, maybe the best meal I've had in years. For this, I'll tell you anything you want to know."

Ronon chuckled. "Good thing our enemies don't know that they should just feed you instead of torture you for information."

"Hmph!" snorted Rodney indignantly. "Not funny, Ronon, not funny at all. Why don't you just be a good boy and don't talk with your mouth full."

Joe laughed, relieved at the upturn in the mood. Between bites, John's team told Joe about his son's connection to Atlantis and how he could operate the Ancient technology with ease. Rodney complained at the way he could make the lights go up and down, as well as operate doors and other things almost without thinking. They talked about the Ancients, puddle jumpers, and the Wraith. Ronon and Teyla told Joe a little about their people and their life in the Pegasus Galaxy.

By the time they returned to the hospital, Joe felt like he'd known John's team for years. They were different in so many ways, and yet they were united in their support of one another and their love of Atlantis. Joe was really beginning to feel his son's love of and dependence on these people.

As the group left the elevator and approached the ICU, Joe saw Isaac Knighten standing in the hall beside the door to the waiting room. "Isaac, I wasn't expecting to see you." Joe motioned toward his companions as he introduced them. "This is Rodney McKay, Ronon Dex, and Teyla Emmagan. They're friends and coworkers of John's." Joe then indicated Isaac with a wave of his hand. "This is Isaac Knighten. He's the detective in charge of investigating what happened to John."

Isaac gave the group a curt nod. "Joe, I need to talk to you." He led Joe into the empty waiting room and turned to find the whole group had followed.

The detective eyed the group warily and Joe added, "Isaac, these are the people John depends on every day. Anything you need to tell me can be said in front of them."

Pursing his lips momentarily, Isaac finally sighed and bobbed his head once. "Okay. Josh Byers got out on bail earlier today. I put a team on surveillance duty, keeping an eye on him. They lost him about an hour ago. I've already assigned a unit to protect the Cravens. John is the other witness that can identify Byers and his men."

"Do you think this man will try to harm John?" asked Teyla, the worry in her face mirrored by her companions.

Isaac looked at Joe hard. "Josh Byers has never even made it through a full trial. The witnesses have always backed off at the last minute, usually with unexplained injuries. John isn't going to back off and Byers knows that. I think we've got enough evidence to convict him without John's testimony. His blood was all over John's shirt, as well as your carpet, and we found a smudge of John's blood in Byer's car." The detective grinned in satisfaction. "He thought he'd cleaned the car up, but our forensics unit found it anyway. Byers also left us three hairs in the house and took carpet fibers from the house to his car."

"Then it wouldn't do much good to try and scare the Colonel off," said Rodney. "Does he know this?"

Shifting his weight, Isaac scratched the side of his head, obviously uncomfortable. "He knows. But I don't think it matters. He and John have a history. He took down Byer's son and now he's the one that's going to finally put Byers away for a while. This is about revenge more than testimony. His level of violence has been steadily escalating lately and I'm . . . well, I'm concerned that he wants to do more than scare John."

Joe's eyes widened and his brows shot up. "Like what?"

Sighing, Isaac frowned at the people in front of him. "I think he may plan on ending this little feud permanently."

The color drained from Rodney's face and his voice was high pitched. "You think he's gong to kill him?"

"I do."

Ronon smacked his fist into his hand loudly. "Not if I can help it."

"I need to talk to John," said Joe, wondering how things could possibly get worse.

"We need to protect him," added Rodney strongly.

"We will," agreed Ronon.

Crossing his arms, Isaac allowed a slow smile spread across his face. "Funny you should mention that. I talked to John just a few minutes ago when the doctors got through with him, explained the situation to him. He has an idea."

"Oh, God," moaned Rodney.

oOo

John felt more than heard that someone had entered the room, bringing him to sudden awareness. He'd tried to stay awake, but as the hour got late, he'd kept drifting off. His head throbbed and his body ached, both from the heat of the fever and from the injuries, both old and new. The discomfort had given him something to focus on in his determination to stay awake, but it just hadn't been enough. Now, with the jolt to consciousness, he felt disoriented and uncertain.

Soft rustling drove him to open his eyes. Josh Byers stood over him, feral grin on his chubby face as he held a pillow to his chest.

"Glad you're awake Sheppard because I want you to know what's happening... I'm anxious to see how Mr. Air Force faces his own death."

Summoning up all his energy, John gave Josh a big, lop-sided grin. The fear and dread and even the pain were all pushed aside as he observed the confusion in his attacker's face. "Not tonight . . . I stacked the odds . . . this time."

Frowning, Josh tilted his head a little then narrowed his eyes. "What are you talking about?"

John wasn't sure if Josh felt the presence behind him or if he got a glimpse of the shadow falling across the end of the bed, but the bully suddenly whirled around and looked up into the face of a very angry Ronon Dex.

"Josh . . ." breathed out John tiredly. "Meet Ronon . . . and he's . . . a little angry . . . with you."

The only regret John had was that he couldn't see Josh's expression just then. However, a weak, but satisfied smile spread across his face as Byers dropped the pillow and tried to throw a punch at the big man in front of him. The Satedan's hand flashed out and caught Josh's, stopping it like the man had punched a brick wall. Gripping the now terrified man's hand firmly, a smile very slowly developed across Ronon's mouth.

"Let me show you how we deal with coward's like you where I come from," Ronon's deep voice rumbled. John would have laughed if he hadn't been certain about how badly it would hurt.

oOo

"Rodney . . . please stop that," pleaded Joe.

Rodney stilled his pacing and turned to snap at the man, but stopped when he saw the fear and exhaustion on Joe's face. Standing for a moment with his mouth open as if poised to speak, Rodney finally sighed and nodded. "Fine, fine, I just wish something would happen already." He walked across the employee break room to pour a cup of coffee, but the pot only held a thin film of darkened liquid laced with a smattering of grounds.

"This is just nasty. Why didn't the last person make a new pot?" he complained as he forcefully slid the pot back in place.

Teyla cleared her voice without looking up at him. "Rodney, I believe you were the last person to get coffee."

"Really?" he asked, surprise on his face and in his voice. "Oh . . . well . . . oh. What time is it?"

"0220," answered Joe. "Which is about three minutes later than the last time you asked."

"Well, I'm sorry if I'm bothering you. I just happen to be worried and when I'm worried, I tend to –"

"ramble . . . yes, I know," said Joe without irritation. He walked over to take Rodney by the upper arm and turn him toward a chair, giving him a gentle push in that direction. "Sit down, Rodney. They'll let us know if anything happens and you need to sit down and rest. Aren't you supposed to be recovering from injuries as well?"

Obediently, Rodney sat down in the chair Joe had indicated. "Yes, I am." He looked down at the cast on his arm. "They broke my arm, you know, when we rescued Sheppard. They were going to beat him with that metal pipe and I had to stop them. I just . . ." Rodney looked up at Joe, meeting his eyes. "I couldn't let them. He already looked so . . . he was so pale, I thought . . . I thought he was dead for a second."

Rodney closed his eyes and rubbed the side of his neck with his good hand. Joe noticed the faded yellows and greens from still healing bruises on the scientist's arm, neck, and the side of his face.

"But he wasn't," said Joe softly. "And Ronon is with him now. He'll be fine." Joe just wished he felt as confident as he sounded. They all flinched at the sound of crashing from down the hall. Freezing where they were, everyone stared at the door as the noises increased and became more frantic, as if expecting the answer to somehow appear there.

The first one to break from the spell was Rodney. A moment of sudden, unexpected silence seemed to kick start him from his fog and he sprang for the door, jerking it open and almost running for John's room. Joe was half a step behind him. Swarming the hall near John's door were police and medical personnel and Joe felt his already rapid heart rate kick up another notch. "John," he breathed out softly.

A policeman stepped out to stop them, but they were all forced to step aside as two officers lead Josh Byers from John's room. They were partially supporting the fugitive, who walked hunched over as if he could barely stand. He lifted his head for a few seconds to reveal a bruised and bloodied face.

Joe stared at the man as he was led by, glaring at the watchful group. "What happened to him?"

"I'm betting Ronon," grinned Rodney proudly, pushing past the officer and into the room. Joe and Teyla followed.

Carson Beckett and Dr. Shoemaker were both at John's side, along with a nurse, while Isaac Knighten talked to Ronon, who stood protectively at the foot of John's bed. Another officer was taking notes while talking to a nurse in the far corner of the room. Rodney strode purposefully over to Ronon.

"Nice going, big guy."

Joe went past the men to stand beside Dr. Beckett, eagerly looking over his son's prone form. "John, are you okay?"

John blinked heavily, obviously fighting sleep, a big sloppy grin on his face. "I'm good . . . never touched me. Got my . . . body guard."

Joe let out a long sigh and gripped the bedrails, feeling the tension drain out of his body, leaving him dead tired. "Thank goodness," he murmured.

"And Josh Byers just added attempted murder to his already long list of crimes. We had the room bugged, so we have him on tape pretty much confessing that that was what he was going to do," said Isaac. "He's going away for a long time and I couldn't be happier."

"Fighting crime all over the universe," mumbled Rodney with a small shake of his head and a smirk. "Guess we'll have to make Ronon sheriff or some such nonsense." He turned his head to look down at John. "Carson, is he really okay?"

"Aye, as okay as he was anyway. Ronon took care of that Josh fellow before he could harm the Colonel. But it's late and we need to wrap this up soon so the lad can get some much needed rest."

"Already got the happy juice," John said, still grinning lazily.

Rodney chuckled. "I think we can tell. You look like a drunk at a New Year's Eve party."

John waved weakly with his good hand. "Was cool . . . shoulda been here . . . thanks Ronon."

Crossing his arms in a firm stance, Ronon smiled down at John. "No problem Sheppard, but we've got to get you out of this bed soon and back on your feet. I can't keep this up forever. Anyone that stays in as much trouble as you do needs to be able to defend his own skinny butt."

"Hey," John slurred, blinking furiously in an effort to stay awake. "Not skinny . . . and can 'fend self . . . Chewie." Snorting loudly, Ronon gave his head a slight shake.

"Colonel Sheppard can defend himself another time, right now he needs sleep, which means all of you need to leave," insisted Carson.

"No," John pleaded, squirming in the bed and reaching his good hand out almost in a panic. "Stay . . . please."

Joe watched with interest the war on Carson Beckett's face. Shoemaker and he must have had quite a talk, because the hospital doctor was obviously deferring to Beckett. Carson sighed and patted his patient on the shoulder. "I know, lad, I know." Directing his comments to the team, he looked up. "You know the drill. You can stay if you are quiet and let him sleep. So get yourselves settled quickly or I'll kick you out."

Fifteen minutes later, the room was cleared of excess medical and police personnel. Four chairs had been moved up around John's bed in such a way that still allowed the nurse to get to John and the equipment for the regular checks. Joe sat in his chair beside John's left arm, studying the team before him.

Ronon's chair was near the end of the bed, his feet propped up on the bed frame, his arms crossed. Teyla sat opposite Joe, holding John's hand and speaking softly to him, her gentle voice lulling him to sleep. Rodney sat on the other side of Teyla, his computer in his lap. He periodically seemed to study what was on the screen and then type one-handed for a moment before looking up to watch John for a while, as if confirming that he was really there.

There would come a time when Joe would have to let John go, let him return to Atlantis in a different galaxy such a very long way away. It would be hard to say goodbye after getting to know the man his son had become. But for the first time since he'd opened that door and seen John on his porch, he knew he would be able to do it. Because he knew, without a doubt, that there were people to watch his back and take care of him. John would have family with him.

TBC

_I have bad news. I have officially caught myself. I honestly thought when I started posting that I was far enough ahead to keep this from happening, but I seriously underestimated how exhausting my schedule would be. I will do my best to post ASAP, but it may not be every two days like it has been. My fault and for that I apologize profusely. I could have chapter 15 finished if I hadn't gotten sidetracked with my Tabula Rasa tag. Anyway, I'm sorry for the error in judgment and the way my mind wanders and for the delay all that will cause._


	15. Chapter 15

**Note: **Hope the delay wasn't too bad – this chapter was harder to write for some reason. It was probably the panic of feeling like I needed to hurry. You guys were spectacularly patient, but I have this internal nagger who screams, "They're waiting!" in my ear. Anyway, I hope it doesn't disappoint.

**Going Home - Chapter 15**

Joe hurried down the hall toward John's room. John had slept most of the day, exhausted from the night's excitement, so they had taken turns leaving to eat or take care of other business. Joe had used his time to check his house, take a shower, and update the Cravens on everything that had transpired. But he'd stayed away longer than he meant and was now anxious to get back to his son.

Pushing the door open, Joe stepped in the room to the sound of laughter. Glancing around, his eyes first landed on John, propped up and semi-awake. Smiling, he made a beeline for the bed that John's team surrounded. "You people are having way too much fun," he quipped.

"Hi Dad," John said. "Just telling me . . . about Ronon's steak."

Standing beside the big man, Joe glanced up. "I guess they told you that he ate the Monster Steak. I didn't even know that was possible."

"Plus appetizers and French fries and apple pie," groaned Rodney. "Made my stomach hurt just watching."

Ronon patted his belly in satisfaction. "It was good. I think I could get used to this planet if we get to eat like that all the time."

"Even _you _would get fat eating like that every day," said Rodney. "That or clog your arteries up before you reach forty. Plus, we still have some work to do on your table manners. It was like eating out with Conan."

"Hey, nothing wrong with my table manners," Ronon interjected defensively. "I kept the food off the floor didn't I?"

While the small gathering conversed and joked over Ronon's experience in an Earth restaurant, Joe's gaze took in John's appearance. Although his son wore a smile, it was timid and uncertain. Pain lines creased his face and his good hand clutched the blanket, occasionally tightening for a few seconds. Beads of sweat were scattered across his forehead, leaving Joe certain that he was still carrying some fever. John caught his father watching him and frowned slightly.

"Dad?"

Plastering the smile back on his face, the elder Sheppard shrugged. "Just keeping an eye on you, son." They traded a look that clearly stated neither of them was fooling the other. Averting his gaze, he noticed the rolling tray table to one side of John's bed, a mug half full of watery gold liquid sitting in the middle. "What's that?"

Teyla, standing nearest the questioned mug, glanced down at the ceramic cup. "Dr. Beckett brought a little broth for John. He is anxious to get John eating as soon as possible."

"Always trying to fatten me up," said John weakly just before tensing his grip on the blanket. The effort was accompanied by a grimace this time.

"John, are you okay?" asked Joe, moving to stand beside John's shoulder.

Lurching up and forward a few inches, John began to gag and a metal pan suddenly appeared in front of him just before he brought up the broth he'd apparently just eaten. Teyla held the pan in one hand while rubbing his back with the other. Joe snapped out of his shock quickly enough to grip John's good shoulder, giving him some support while he retched into the pan. When the dry heaves had passed, John's face was stark white and sweat rolled down the side of his head as they eased his almost limp body back against the pillows.

"Take it easy, son, you're okay," Joe said in an effort to comfort John. He ran his hand along John's forehead, pushing the damp hair back off his face and feeling the heat radiate off his fevered skin.

"I'll get . . . someone," Rodney said, his voice pitched high with worry.

Joe must have conveyed his confusion, because Ronon answered his question even before he had a chance to ask. "Beckett went to check into the hotel and take a shower. He said some doctor named Shoemaker was around if we needed him."

Joe nodded. "That's the doctor that was taking care of John before you guys came. He seems to be very good. How long was John awake?"

"Still . . . 'wake," John mumbled, but didn't open his eyes.

Joe squeezed John's shoulder. "I wasn't sure. It's kind of hard to tell with your eyes closed." Teyla, who had disappeared with the offensive smelling pan, returned with a damp cloth and began wiping the sweat from John's face.

"Rest, John," she cooed softly.

"Tired," John whispered.

Sighing, Joe bit his lip. "I know son, I know. Just hang in there and it _will _get better."

Hazel eyes peeked out from almost closed lids. "When?" came the breathless question. Joe didn't have an answer.

oOo

The night was another restless one, with John sleeping in fits and spurts between being hot and then cold, sudden flashes of pain, and periodic bouts of nausea. He'd sweat and push the covers off, only to be shivering and grasping for them fifteen minutes later. Everyone fretted and worried and fussed until by dawn, they were all completely exhausted.

Only when he lapsed into a deeper sleep, did Ronon and Teyla leave their friend's bedside to return to their hotel rooms for a nap. They were back by noon, giving Rodney and Joe a chance to run back to the house. Joe had to admit, the strain of the constant vigil of the last few days was really beginning to wear him down. He couldn't wait to lie down and close his eyes. From the look on Rodney's face and the silence surrounding the usually animated man, he was almost as tired.

Joe reached out to unlock the front door to his home, only to find the door already unlocked. His heart skipped a beat as he slowly pushed the door open.

"You locked it . . . right?" came the frightened question from the scientist behind him.

"Yeah," Joe whispered. "I locked it." The door was halfway open when he recognized a voice from inside and let out a huge sigh. "It's okay, it's Jack and Mary." Pushing the door the rest of the way open, he stepped in.

The living room was spotless. Every bit of broken furniture and glass had been removed. The carpet had been cleaned, leaving no sign of the depressing blood spots. The only thing that remained was the couch, an easy chair, one end table, and a bookcase. The books had been carefully placed in the bookcase. Three picture frames with no glass lay on top.

Joe picked up an eight by ten picture of a much younger him sitting beside his wife with her thick dark hair and bright green-hazel eyes. John sat between them, with a big, lop-sided grin and his dark hair looking almost as unruly as it did now. The adults each had a hand on the boy's shoulders and it looked like they were trying to hold him still long enough to get the picture made. Joe could feel Rodney looking over his shoulder as he gazed at the remembrance of happier times.

"This was made when John was ten, almost a year before Rachel was diagnosed. That was back when we thought getting John to sit still was our greatest trial." Joe gently ran his index finger across the image of his now deceased wife. "Much happier times. I wish she could see John now. She'd be so proud."

After a few moments of silence, Rodney finally spoke. "Have you told him that?"

Blinking against the moisture building in his eyes, Joe nodded. "Yes, I've told him. But I should have told him a long time ago."

"Hey, you're back!" Both men jumped at the unexpected voice of Jack from behind them. Laying the photo back down on the mangled frame, Joe turned to see Mary joining her husband from the kitchen doorway.

"We came home to take a little nap and change clothes. You didn't have to do this," Joe said, waving his hand across the living room.

Smiling, Mary came over and wrapped her arms around Joe's neck. "Yes, we did, honey," she said, giving him a quick squeeze and then pulling back to look at him. "There was no way I was leaving this mess for you to come home to, not after everything you've been through. How's John?"

Joe sighed and shook his head. "He's having a rough time right now. They can't get his fever down and I suspect he's in quite a bit of pain. He won't say, but . . . he does things . . . the look on his face sometimes. He's trying to act like everything's okay, but . . . I'm worried about him."

Mary patted Joe on the arm. "He's had a rough time and he's got a long road ahead of him. From what you've told me, he's painfully aware of just how long and hard that road will be. It's bound to be discouraging." She looked around at Rodney and flashed a smile at him. "But he has a really strong support system."

"I think a lot of people will rest easier with Josh Byers and his gang out of the way," said Jack. "We owe John and his friends a lot of thanks."

"As the only member of the team actually here, you're welcome," said Rodney.

"I think we're done here," said Jack. "We bagged everything and put it out with the trash, so if you're missing anything you needed, holler and I'll help search through that stuff. I'm afraid your living room is a little sparse, but everything else was destroyed. Can we get you anything? Is there anything we can do for you?"

"No," Joe shook his head. "I think we're good. I don't know what to say about your doing this for me, except thanks . . . and you really shouldn't have."

Mary slapped him playfully on the arm. "You quit saying that, Joe Sheppard. We wanted to. It made us feel like we were doing something useful at a time when we know we really can't. Now you call us if you need anything, anything at all."

Grinning, Joe placed on hand on top of Mary's. "I will, I promise. And . . . thanks, for everything."

Giving his arm a final squeeze, Mary nodded to her husband and headed for the front door. Jack paused as he followed his wife. "We're both serious about calling. And you know if she finds out you needed something and didn't call, she'll make you sorry for a long time."

Joe chuckled as he nodded. "I know, I know. I'll call, I promise. Now get out of here before I throw you both out. And we may have to talk untrading keys after this."

Snorting loudly as she waved her hand dismissively, Mary stepped out onto the porch and ignored his threat. Jack pulled the door closed behind him a few seconds later. The house suddenly seemed very quiet and empty, the sound of the wall clock ticking loudly in the near empty room. Catching Joe's attention, he marveled that it seemed untouched by the mayhem that taken place around it.

"I need a nap," said Rodney as he took a step toward John's room.

"Right behind you," replied Joe, already anticipating the soft mattress and warm blanket.

oOo

It was almost six before Joe and Rodney returned to the hospital. While Joe hadn't meant to sleep so long, he had to admit that he felt a little better for it. At some point he'd had to grudgingly admit to himself that he wasn't as young as he wanted and his stamina had faded with the years.

Upon entering John's room, Joe immediately cast his eyes over to his son's bed, taking in the sleeping form turned slightly to one side, as if he had tried curling up before remembering that he couldn't. Walking up to stand at the foot of the bed, he exchanged a nod with Ronon as the big man polished a huge knife. He smiled as he heard Rodney gasp from behind him.

"Are you nuts," the scientist hissed quietly, his eyes darting around the room for the presence of anyone besides the team. "You can't just wave those things around in a hospital; you'll get us all arrested."

Ronon casually shrugged his shoulders. "I'm being careful."

"Oh, for the love of . . ." Trailing off with a few whispered mutters, Rodney pulled up a chair on the opposite side of the bed from Ronon.

Joe found Teyla with his eyes, seeking out her judgment on John's condition. "How is he?"

"He has slept most of the afternoon, but the fever continues to make him restless. He awoke for a short time and Dr. Beckett was able to get him to drink a few sips of broth."

"How did he . . . " Joe hesitated, unsure of what to say or what exactly he wanted to know. He was worried about his son, but he wasn't sure what was wrong. Glancing to John, he took a deep breath. "Did he seem okay to you?" _Great. How was that for a nonspecific, meaningless question._

Teyla smiled at him, the warmth of her expression somehow easing some of the tension that had Joe's neck and shoulder muscles tied in knots. "Please sit down," she suggested, indicating a chair near the wall with a slight flick of her wrist. The motion was fluid and graceful, as all her movements seemed to be. Joe grabbed the chair and pulled it over to sit beside the Athosian, superficially aware of Ronon and Rodney's attention to their conversation.

When he was seated, Teyla continued. "I believe John to be struggling with the pain more than in times past. I am uncertain if it is because the pain is worse with these injuries or if it is because he has suffered so much in such a short time." She smiled and glanced toward John, reaching out to brush her hand lightly across his. "John does not like for us to see his pain or his weakness, so he tries to mask it behind humor. He works hard to seem strong for us. But he is tiring."

"I know," Joe said softly. "He's exhausted and he still has a long way to go. I want to help him, but I don't know what to do. I can't take the pain away, although God knows I would if I could. How do we help him? How do we watch him suffer like this?"

Teyla gently squeezed John's hand, watching her friend struggle with pain even in his sleep. "We do what we are doing now. We stand together. We are here for him and we are here for one another and we take strength from that." When she turned to look at Joe again, her eyes were moist, reflecting the light from the lamp on the bedside table a few feet away. "That is how we have survived so far and that is how we will continue to survive. It is what we do. It is who we are." She reached out her other hand for Joe and, after a moment's hesitation, he took it.

"Do you think it will be enough?" he asked, hope churning within him.

"It will be when you add Carson and his voodoo in," said Rodney matter-of-factly.

Taking a deep breath, Joe looked back at John and silently hoped the scientist was right.

oOo

Joe suddenly sat up straight in the chair, his rapidly beating heart aiding his battle to rid his eyes of sleep. Glancing furtively around the semi-darkened room, he noted Rodney snoring in his chair and slumped to one side. Something had awakened him and he wondered if that had been it. Ronon and Teyla were no where to be found, Joe noted as he rubbed his eyes and stood to stretch. Looking at the clock, he saw it was past eleven pm and he assumed they had stepped out for a minute.

A shuddering whimper, barely audible, drew his attention to the bed. John was turned partway up on his good side again, leaving his face turned away from Joe and toward the wall. After a moment of study, Joe saw John's form tremble and shake before settling back to quiet and still. He walked around the bed so he could see his son's face.

The pilot's eyes were clenched shut and his right hand clutched the metal rail of the bed. His face was damp and he gasped somewhat as he pulled in a ragged breath.

"John?" Joe whispered in near panic, thinking at first that his son was having trouble breathing. John's eyes few open and he reflexively drew back, moaning at the pain brought on by the sudden and erratic movement.

Joe placed on hand on John's upper arm. "John, are you all right? Should I get help?"

"No," came the swift, if rough reply. "I'm 'kay . . . I . . . sorry, Dad . . . sorry."

Shaking his head in wonder, Joe gripped his John's arm a little more firmly. "Son, it's okay, why are you apologizing? I just want to make sure you're all right."

The muscles in John's jaw were tight, his teeth obviously clenched together as he rode out a wave of pain. Finally, slumping back into the pillow as he relaxed his grip on the metal slat, he let out a long, if somewhat uneven breath. Rolling over onto his back, he wiped the tears from his face.

"John, I'm here son. Talk to me." Joe was almost dizzy with worry, his heart racing with the rush of adrenalin from his brief brush with fear. John wouldn't meet his eyes, diverting his to one side and looking over his father's shoulder.

"Sorry, dad . . . just . . . I don't think . . . " John's eyes closed momentarily, only to open and drift a little as if he was having trouble staying focused. "Can't," he mumbled softly, almost to himself. "Can't . . . again . . . "

Tightening his grip, Joe tapped John's cheek with the other hand. This was the second round for this discussion and he was pressing the issue this time. "John, wake up son, and talk to me. You can fight this and you will. I know you're tired, but you're strong."

Eyelids fluttering and brow furrowed, John seemed to concentrate on his father. "Dad?"

A small amount of relief made Joe sigh. "Yes, I'm here son. Tell me what's wrong. I want to help."

Confused for a moment, John licked his lips and let his eyes drift to the side again. "Weak, Dad . . . I'm not sure . . . handle this . . . just so tired . . . of hurting . . . of feeling drugged."

Swallowing hard, Joe nodded. "I know, son. If I could take the pain for you, I would. But I can't. No one can. You're just going to have to ride it out and I know that isn't fair, not by a long shot. But you have to lean on us, on me and your team. Talk to us, let us know what's going on. Let us get help when you need it and distract you and . . . we'll cry with you if necessary. I think I understand now why these guys are so important to you. They care a lot about you and they want to help. No, they _need_ to help. _Let_ them. Let _me_."

John grimaced and frowned more deeply. "Not good at that."

Joe managed a light chuckle. "Yes, I know. Neither was I. If this old dog can learn a few new tricks, then so can you."

Letting his eyes drift back to meet those of his father, John looked up at him silently for several moments. "I can try."

"That's all anyone can ask. Should I get the doctor?"

John seemed to consider the question before answering. "No, better now. Could use a drink. Thirsty."

"See," Joe smiled and patted his son's cheek, "being honest wasn't that hard."

"Stop that . . . not a kid," John warned, his eyes flashing.

Joe poured some water from a pitcher into a cup and placed a straw into it. "You are to me. You'll always be my kid," he said proudly. He turned to raise the head of the bed a little so John could drink, only to find Rodney already doing it. Joe gave the scientist a nod as he finished. "Thought you were asleep."

Rodney rubbed his eyes as Joe gave John a drink. "Who could sleep with all this racket?" He looked around the room, turning first one direction and then the other. "Where's Ronon and Teyla?"

oOo

When Teyla and Ronon returned a few minutes later, Joe and Rodney went to get a cup of coffee and stretch their legs. When they returned, the two Pegasus Galaxy natives had succumbed to sleep, with Ronon stretching out on the floor next to the wall. A few hours later the shift changed, with Rodney and Joe going to sleep while the others watched. When Joe woke at six the next morning, the first thing he noticed was how still John was.

Rising worriedly from his chair, he walked quickly over to join Teyla and Ronon standing by John's bed. Teyla was holding John's hand and smiled up at him. "I believe his fever has broken."

All Joe could think about was that maybe John was finally getting a break. He nudged Ronon over so he could place his hand on his son's forehead. His hairline was still damp with sweat, but his skin felt cool beneath his fingers for the first time in days. "Should we get the doctor?"

Teyla placed John's hand carefully on the bed and nodded. "I will tell them." Joe wasn't sure if he imagined the added spring in her step as she left the room. She returned a few minutes later with Carson, his eyes still heavy with sleep as he carried a cup of coffee. A nurse trailed behind them.

"I know the four of you are excited, but you're going to have to back off and let me check him. Why don't you go get some breakfast and we'll talk when you get back. Dr. Shoemaker is on his way and we'll give the Colonel a proper once over," said the physician.

More than anything Joe wanted to stay, but he understood the need to conduct an exam without the curious eyes of relatives looking over their shoulder. It was easier to leave knowing John was indeed getting better. Maybe this was the turning point they'd needed.

"I want real food for breakfast," said Rodney, leaning over to stretch his back. "If Joe will take us somewhere good, I'm buying."

Joe grinned, remembering the day he'd taken John for waffles. "I know just the place."

Rodney froze and then pointed at Joe. "Oh, yeah, I called Sheppard one day and he said you were taking him to breakfast. He was bragging about getting waffles when I told him I was stuck with Fruit Loops."

Nodding, Joe rubbed his hands together. "Yep, best waffles you'll ever eat. You'll love the place."

"Great, let's go. I'm starved," said Ronon.

Wincing, Rodney turned toward the door. "Maybe we should call ahead and tell them we're bringing a large group."

"Nah, four isn't a large group," said Joe.

"I was talking about Ronon," said Rodney.

Teyla smiled, looking truly pleased at the events of the morning. "Carson, may we bring you back something?"

"Aye, lass, that would be nice. Just whatever looks good will be fine. And you're right, his fever is gone, so perhaps I'll have good news for you on your return."

"Good food followed by good news," said Rodney as they walked out the door. "I could get used to this."

TBC


	16. Chapter 16

**Note: **This is one day too late for the real Veteran's Day, but to all of you who have served or are now serving in the armed forces of the U.S., a huge THANK YOU!!! And thank you to the family members who also make sacrifices so their spouse, child, parent, etc. can serve their country. We owe you guys big time!!

**Going Home - Chapter 16**

Looking up from his menu, Joe saw Kelly making her way across the restaurant with a pot of coffee and a big smile.

"Good morning, Colonel Sheppard. I've been missing the Colonel club the last few days. Coffee?"

Nodding, Joe turned his cup over. "Definitely need the coffee this morning, Kelly. Have the others not been in?"

"Nope," said Kelly as she filled his cup. "Haven't seen any of you since the other day when you were here with your son." She glanced around the table and then frowned a bit. "Did he have to go back already?"

"No . . . John's in the hospital," Joe said sadly.

Eyes widening in surprise, Kelly gasped. "Oh, I'm sorry. Is he going to be okay?"

"Yes, I think he'll be okay. He seems to be getting better finally. These are his friends, Rodney, Ronon, and Teyla. And this," Joe said as he motioned to the young woman, "is Kelly, the number one waitress in the whole city."

Kelly rolled her eyes, but her smile widened as she lightly smacked Joe in the upper arm. "You know how to make sure your coffee cup stays full, don't you? Does anyone else need coffee?"

"I do," said Rodney as he turned his cup over. "And keep it coming. It's going to take me weeks to catch up on my sleep after this."

"My pleasure," Kelly poured the dark liquid. She looked at the remaining occupants at the table and asked, "What about either of you?"

Just like the other two men, Ronon flipped his cup over, "I'll take some."

"Since when do you drink coffee?" Rodney inquired.

"Sheppard and I drink a cup together sometimes," Ronon answered as he pulled the now full cup closer.

"What about you, miss?"

Teyla shook her head. "No coffee, but I would enjoy some hot tea if you have it."

"I'll have that right out. Have you guys had a chance to look at the menu yet or would you like a minute?"

"Give us a few more minutes," said Joe with a grin. "I think Ronon needs to make a list." Rodney snorted and Ronon lifted his brows with a smirk.

Chuckling, Kelly gave a quick nod. "That's fine, I'll just get the tea for . . . Teyla, was it?"

"Yes," the Athosian replied with a smile. "Thank you."

"Pretty name. I'll be right back." Kelly gave them a final nod and then headed across the room.

"She is very kind," observed Teyla. "And she knows you quite well."

"Yeah," Joe rubbed the side of his head for a moment. "I get together with some old buddies and we eat breakfast here two or three days a week. That's odd they haven't been in for a few days. They haven't been by the hospital either."

"Perhaps they have been busy," offered Teyla.

Ronon suddenly stiffened, his hand going under the table. "There are two men headed this way."

Looking over his shoulder, Joe broke out in a grin. "That's just Morgan and Harry." Standing, he turned to meet the two friends. "Hey, guys, we were just talking about you."

"Should we be worried?" asked Morgan.

"Nah, actually I was the one getting worried. I haven't seen or heard from you in a few days and Kelly was just telling me she hasn't seen you either."

"We've been making the four of us rich!" exclaimed Harry.

"Now hold on a minute," warned Morgan. "We're hardly going to be rich. But retirement might be little nicer. We can talk about that in a minute though. How's John?"

"He's had a rough few days, but I think things are finally beginning to look up. Why don't you join us and I can fill you in. Then you can tell me what the devil you old fools have been up to."

Morgan looked at Harry, who nodded, and then turned back to Joe. "Okay, we're in." Morgan grabbed a chair and pulled it up to the round table, while the others moved closer together. Harry took an empty chair next to Rodney.

Pointing to each person in turn, Joe went around the table making introductions. Kelly arrived about the time they were all seated again, bringing Teyla her tea. She fussed over Morgan and Harry before taking everyone's order and promising to return with the coffee pot.

"So, where have you old goats been the last few days? And what's this about making us rich?" asked Joe.

Morgan exchanged a glance with Harry before meeting eyes with Joe. "You know that last group of training exercises we presented to that Army guy, Winford?"

Snorting, Joe nodded while turning his lips down in distaste. "You mean the one Colonel Winford told us couldn't teach his men anything they didn't already know? Oh, yeah, I usually remember when someone talks down to me like I'm a first year Airman."

"Yeah, well, the last laugh is on him. After our presentation, that Lt. Ashcroft that told us what a good job we'd done contacted his brother's wife's . . . uh . . ." Morgan looked quickly to Harry for help, snapping his fingers as if that would gouge his memory.

"First cousin," supplied Harry. "Geez, you can't remember anything, you old geezer."

Ignoring his friend, Morgan continued. "Yeah, that's it, cousin. Anyway, this guy works for a company that makes video games and he called us. We knew you were busy with John, so we went to the meeting just to see what he said. They want to buy our package to make a line of video games."

Realizing his mouth was hanging open, Joe closed it and swallowed hard. "They want to _buy_ our ideas for a video game?" They had originally started their little exercises because they were all bored with retirement and driving themselves crazy. None of them had ever expected to make money off their little venture.

"Yes, and they are willing to pay quite well for them. I told them we were a team and we'd have to talk to you about it. When John's better, we'll go over the details."

Shaking his head, Joe studied his friends, noting the excitement in their faces and the light in their eyes. "You guys think this is a good deal?"

Harry nodded. "I have my attorney looking it over for us, just to make sure there's not some hidden clause that will have us doing slave labor til we die or something."

"Wow," said Joe. "I wasn't expecting anything like this. Look, I appreciate you waiting until you could talk to me, but my focus will on John for a while and I trust you guys. I'll go along with whatever you want to do. By the way, where's Dave?"

"His wife's family is in town for a couple of days, so he's visiting them. He said as long as the lawyer didn't find anything to be concerned about, that he was for it."

"Okay," said Joe with a shrug. "Sounds good to me."

"You will have to tell John when we return to the hospital," said Teyla. "I think he will be very pleased."

Joe smiled at that, unable to hide his pleasure at thinking his son could still be proud of his old man. After a few seconds, he looked up to find everyone at the table grinning at him. "What?"

oOo

The chatter of John's teammates about their breakfast quickly faded from Joe's thoughts as he spotted Carson Beckett waiting for them in the hallway outside the ICU. While the man didn't look overly worried, he didn't look as happy as Joe had expected and that concerned him.

"Colonel Sheppard?" The people behind him silenced at Dr. Beckett's use of his name.

"Joe, just call me Joe please."

Beckett nodded with a smile. "And I'd be pleased if you'd call me Carson. The waiting room is empty right now. I thought we could talk in there."

"Is something wrong?" Joe asked, aware of the slight tremble of fear in his voice.

"No, nothing's wrong, we just need to talk before you go back in the Colonel's room, uh, in John's room." Carson waved them toward the waiting room and they followed the doctor to the chairs lining the wall. Carson waited until they were all seated and giving him their full attention, even though he mostly addressed his conversation to Joe.

"Colonel Shep, uh . . . John's fever has truly broken for sure, and that is good news. It means we're finally beginning to win the battle with the infection. The bad news is that his struggle with the illness has set him back a bit. He's lost ground with his strength and his pressure is low again. I think another problem that is slowing his recovery is the pain level he's experiencing."

Sighing, Joe nodded and rubbed at his temple. "I know. He did it again last night, said he couldn't do this again, that he was tired of hurting and of feeling drugged all the time. I've been really worried."

"With good reason, I imagine," said Carson ruefully. "Part of the problem is that he's been given so many pain relievers lately that his body has developed a bit of a tolerance for them. I don't think it wise to increase his dosage, so we've had to switch off to a cocktail of weaker drugs and they aren't doing much to alleviate his suffering I'm afraid."

"What can we do?" asked Teyla, her voice strained with worry for her friend.

"I've been talking to Dr. Shoemaker about the problem and he's made a suggestion. The hospital is participating in some clinical trials for a new pain reliever. It works differently than the narcotics, but seems to be almost as potent. There have been positive results so far and patients report feeling less out of it than with morphine and some of the other things commonly used to control pain."

"What about side effects?" asked Rodney.

Carson bobbed his head once. "Incidence has been low, but there have been a few. Some patients have reported nausea and vomiting and there have been a few cases of respiratory distress. Those were only seen in cases where there was a high likelihood of occurrence even without the drug, though, so I think the chances of that are small."

"Have you talked to John about this?" asked Joe. He knew John would have the final say in what they did, but he thought the treatment sounded promising.

"Aye, just a few minutes ago and he wants to try it. He was surprisingly open about how much pain he's been in. He said that you and he had a little chat last night about accepting help from others and being honest about his condition."

Nodding, Joe let out a deep breath, remembering with startling clarity how worried he'd been about his son. "We did. I know John doesn't like anyone to see him hurting. His protective streak goes not only to making people safe, but also to trying to keep them from worrying about him. And he hates sympathy and pity and anything remotely resembling either. But he's so worn down that he can't keep up his _I'm fine_ act and it's eating up his strength trying to."

"I agree," said Carson flatly. "With everything that's happened the last few months, the Colonel is physically and mentally exhausted. Everyone has a breaking point and he's reached his. He'll either accept our help and get better, or he'll keep trying to do this on his own and fail. If he fails . . . I don't think he'll be returning to Atlantis."

"What?" asked Rodney, his eyes wide. "What are you talking about, of course he'll go back to Atlantis. You know he'd never be happy here, he's too . . . connected to the city. It's a part of him."

"And we're a team," added Ronon. "I wouldn't be here if weren't for Sheppard. He's going back."

Almost defensively, Carson held out his hand. "I'm not saying the Colonel won't go back to Atlantis, because I think he will. He's strong, as we all well know, and he's beginning to take the right steps to let us help him. I'm just trying to impress upon you that his recovery is going to be a bit more complicated than it may have been in the past. There's a psychological component that is essential, and if we don't ensure that that particular need is met, . . . well, it could mean a medical discharge for the Colonel."

"We will not let that happen," said Teyla firmly.

"You got that right," added Ronon with a nod. "I'll make sure he gets back on his feet."

Sighing, Carson glanced back at Teyla. "Lass, I'm going to be depending on you to help me with this."

With a brief smile, Teyla placed her hand on Joe's forearm. "I believe that Joe and I will be able to help keep John talking and honest with how he is feeling. Ronon is more efficient with physical recovery than emotional."

"What about me?" asked Rodney, his whiney tone indicating that he was feeling left out.

Joe studied Rodney for several seconds. "You can just keep being his best friend. Do what you always do. You'll be his link to normalcy, so he doesn't feel quite so . . . kept."

A big smile broke out across the scientist's face. "I can do that. This is good because, you know, I'm not good with the fake nice stuff. People can always see right through that for some reason."

"We've noticed," quipped Ronon with a tight smile.

"What Ronon is trying to say," said Teyla diplomatically, "is that we each have ways in which we are best suited to help with John's recovery."

Grinning, Joe exchanged a look with Carson, who was silently shaking his head. It was an odd assortment of people with an odd assortment of talents. But one thing he was sure of – they would take good care of his son.

oOo

Twenty-four hours later, Joe was amazed at John's progress. Fervently studying his son's face, he decided the pain lines were fainter and he didn't look as tense. John was propped partially sitting up, smiling as Rodney listed all the things he'd seen Ronon eat since arriving on Earth. Ronon just leaned his chair back against the wall and grinned, crossing his arms. John seemed genuinely amused by their interaction and Joe was relieved to see his son not continually clutching something in pain.

"Dad?"

Snapping back to attention, Joe looked up at John's uneasy expression. "You okay?"

"Yeah," said Joe with a genuine smile. "I'm fine, just thinking. You seem much better this afternoon. Is that new pain medication working?"

John gave a small nod. "To tell you the truth, I've been surprised at how much better it is. The pain's still there, but it's not as sharp and it doesn't . . . I don't know how to describe it. Before, it would suddenly just flare up and almost take my breath away every few minutes, but that's stopped. It still kind of cycles through better times and worse times, but it's much more manageable now. And I don't feel so groggy and fuzzy."

Joe would not have believed the sense of relief he felt at hearing his son's report on his condition. He'd begun to lose hope when everything seemed to keep going from bad to worse and having things suddenly look up had been like having a great weight lifted off him. "I'm just happy you're doing so much better."

"He's even getting a little color back," piped in Rodney. "Doesn't like so much like the walking dead any more. Except he's not walking . . . you know, because he's hurt and everything. But if he were, he would have looked like some kind of zombie."

John's brow furrowed slightly. "Gee, thanks Rodney," he said flatly.

"Oh, uh, yeah, okay. You're welcome." Rodney finally managed to say.

The opening door caught everyone's attention as Carson Beckett came through and then walked over to stand beside John's bed.

"Hey, Doc," greeted John.

After checking the machines and lines, Carson smiled down at his patient. "Well, Colonel, I must say that I've been pleasantly surprised at the progress you've made in the last day. I guess that new drug is helping."

"It is, Carson, it really is. I think getting rid of the fever helped too. I'm actually starting to feel almost human again."

Carson nodded. "Aye, I imagine you are. Well, along those lines, you're pressure is back up to a more acceptable level and your condition overall has improved enough we'll be taking you out of ICU, probably tomorrow."

John's smile grew, as did everyone else's. "That's great, Doc, thanks."

Carson looked around the room as if checking to see who was there. Looking satisfied, he turned his attention back to John. "When I say moved out of ICU, I didn't mean to a different room, I meant moved to a different state. I talked to Dr. Lam and General Landry just a little bit ago and they want you at the SGC as soon as possible."

"Why?" asked Joe, unable to hide the dread and uncertainty in his voice. "Can't he just stay here?"

Carson shook his head. "They aren't happy that he's been here this long and under the influence of heavy pain medication. The _Daedalus_ will pick us up and drop us off at the SGC. When John is ready, we'll all catch a ride back to Atlantis with Colonel Caldwell."

"The _Daedalus_, that's the ship that makes supply runs to Atlantis, right?" asked Joe, his head reeling the new information. His son was leaving tomorrow and it could be a long time before he saw him again. "Does it have to be tomorrow? I didn't get to . . . we haven't finished . . . " Joe trailed off, too upset to form words.

Smiling, Carson watched the distraught man for a moment. "Joe, if you want, you've been cleared to accompany the Colonel back to the SGC. That will give you a few more days with him before we have to leave."

John almost sat straight up, but quickly fell back against the pillows before anyone could admonish him. "He can come with us?"

"Aye, that he can, if he wants."

Joe reached out to grip his son's arm. "Looks like I'll get to see this stargate of yours after all."

TBC


	17. Chapter 17

**Going Home - Chapter 17**

_John suddenly came awake, hearing nothing but silence while knowing something loud had awakened him. As he pulled the covers back and climbed out of bed, he scanned his room in his father's house. This was wrong. He knew he shouldn't be here, but couldn't remember where he was supposed to be. While he stood beside the bed, mulling the predicament over, a scream tore through the dark quiet of the night, sending him running from the room and down the hall. _

_Throwing open the door to his father's bedroom, John gasped, frozen to the spot in shock and fear. An all too familiar growl filled the air as a Wraith turned his head to smile at John over his shoulder while he fed off the pilot's father. The man in the bed, now barely gasping for breath, no longer looked like the father he'd been visiting the last few days. John watched in horror as he dried up and withered away to the point of collapsing into a pile of shattered bones and dust._

"_No-o-o-o-o-o!" John bellowed at the Wraith, who responded by moving quickly toward John, his feeding hand outstretched. John could only watch as the hand slammed into his chest, knocking him back against the doorframe. The shock of pain took his breath away and he could once again feel the years being sucked from him, pulled away in spite of him fighting with every ounce of energy he could muster. _

"John, take it easy, son, we're here."

"Just breathe, John, slow and deep. Try to relax and keep breathing."

He couldn't get enough air. His chest hurt, like someone had him in a giant vise and was squeezing him to death. He wanted to draw in a breath, but his ribcage felt like it was frozen in place. Something slapped his cheek.

"John, son, you have to breathe. Come on and fight this, soldier, _breathe_!" The familiar sound of his father's voice coupled with the physical contact seemed to knock loose whatever had frozen him and he found he could pull in oxygen finally. Something was being pressed to his face and his first panicked thought was the Wraith, so he pulled back and struggled against the hands that seemed to be confining him. The harder the hands pulled and tugged, the harder he struggled.

"Get off me! No, just . . . get off me," he yelled. He wanted to open his eyes, to see who he was fighting because the voices were jumbled and not making sense, but all his energy was directed at getting away.

The hands suddenly increased in number and pinned him firmly to whatever he was lying on. It finally seeped into his head that the surface was soft and that he could breathe easier. The pain in his chest was gone and the hands holding him down, while firm, were not hurting him, almost as if they were trying to be gentle.

Then he recognized a soft, gentle voice, soothing his panic and making him relax against his captors. Now that he was calmer and not breathing as hard, he began to understand the words and recognize who the voice belonged to.

". . . here for you and we will not harm you. John, you must trust us, we only wish to calm you so that you will not injure yourself further. Can you open your eyes and see for yourself?" Teyla.

John worked at following her instructions and opening his eyes. They must have seen him trying, because the pressure holding him to the bed began to relax and let up. Teyla's face, her brow creased with worry, swam into focus. Her lips slowly curved up into a smile.

"John, you are awake now?"

Giving a small nod, John then saw his father standing behind her, looking like he was on the verge of panicking. "I'm 'kay, Dad," he mumbled into the oxygen mask. Not sure if they heard him, he brought his good arm up to try and push the mask off to the side, but the nurse held it firmly on his face, easily thwarting his feeble motions.

"Not yet, John. Let's leave it for a few minutes, make sure you're okay," she said as she pulled the strap around his head.

"Do what she says, son," said Joe. "You had us pretty worried for a minute."

"Jus' a nightmare," John said in a failed effort to sound unconcerned. "I have 'em."

"Must have been one heck of a nightmare," said Joe, his voice strained with worry.

John tried to rid his mind of the image of his father dying at the hand of a Wraith while he stood helplessly to one side and watched. He couldn't help but be reminded of all the people he had really failed and he was suddenly glad his father wouldn't be returning to Atlantis with them. He didn't want to imagine if he really let such a thing happen. It was hard enough worrying about failing his team or Elizabeth or Carson.

"What time is it?" John asked, knowing it had to be late.

"It's just after midnight and you should be trying to get back to sleep," said the nurse, smiling as she checked his blood pressure.

John snorted. "Not likely to go back to sleep now. Nightmare, remember?"

As the cuff deflated and she removed it, she patted John on the arm. "Yeah, but you have your father and your friend here watching over you. I'm sure they'll keep you safe."

Rather than reply, John let his gaze fall to his feet.

"That is not the problem, is it?" asked Teyla. "The problem is that it is impossible for you to keep everyone else safe."

Narrowing his eyes, he studied the Athosian's face. "So, you been peeking at my dreams?"

Teyla smiled and reached out to take his hand and squeeze it. "I know you and I know what you worry about most. It is never for your safety, it is always for the safety of others. What did you dream?"

His gaze automatically went up to his father. Joe looked surprised, his eyes growing wide. "You dreamed about me?"

John let his head roll to one side and faced the nurse. He pulled his hand away from Teyla and brought it up to the mask. "Can I lose this now? I'm okay."

The nurse looked at the monitor and nodded, removing the mask from his face. "All right, it looks like everything's getting back to normal. If you have any more difficulty, let me know." She looked across the bed at the two concerned people on the other side. "Be sure and watch his breathing and let me know if he seems to be struggling to get enough air."

"We will," assured Joe.

Once the nurse left and the door had closed behind her John's gaze return his father. Joe and Teyla both seemed to be waiting on him to continue. "I . . . I was in my room at . . . look, let's just say it was a bad dream and quit at that." Suddenly, the last thing he wanted to do was tell his father what he'd seen.

"John, you're supposed to be honest with us, remember. We can't help you if you don't tell us what's going on in that head of yours," his father admonished.

"I don't see why you need to hear the specifics," John snapped.

Teyla leaned over closer and put her hand on his forearm, giving it a gentle squeeze. "John, you must let us help you and that means being completely honest with us. The doctors feel you are emotionally exhausted as well as physically. Part of that is from trying to protect us all, both our bodies and our feelings. It is past time for us to worry about _you_. We are your team and if you want to heal and return to Atlantis, you must trust us. Do you trust us to help you?"

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, John closed his eyes for a second and nodded. "I trust you," he whispered. His insides churned as he fought to override his instincts and tell them about the dream. It surprised him how much courage it seemed to take.

"I woke up in your house, Dad and I heard someone scream in pain. When I went to your room, there was . . . a Wraith . . . He was feeding on you and . . . " John felt his breath hitch at the memory, still fresh in his head. "He killed you . . . and I just stood there and watched. Then he came after me."

Joe rubbed the back of his neck and then shook his head. "But it wasn't real, son, and you have to focus on that. I'm here and I'm alive and I plan on staying that way for a while."

Furrowing her brow, Teyla pursed her lips a second. "The Wraith fed on you as well, didn't he? You remembered how it was."

Turning his head away from them, John chewed furiously on his lower lip, trying desperately to reign in the fear and despair that seemed about to overtake him. He could feel the phantom pains of the Wraith feeding, of the life being sucked precious year by precious year. He shuddered as he felt a tear slide down his cheek and screamed at himself internally to take back control of his emotions, to pull himself together.

"What's going on?" asked Joe. "What are you talking about, he remembered how it was?"

"Did you tell him about Kolya and the Wraith?" asked Teyla, her eyes still on her friend. Unable to speak, John just shook his head once.

"Please, tell me what happened," begged Joe.

Taking a deep breath, Teyla turned to face John's father. "Several months ago, John was captured by a Genii named Kolya."

Joe nodded. "He told me about Kolya and a strike force of Genii soldiers trying to take Atlantis during a storm. He shot Kolya, but the man escaped. Then I think he came across him again while looking for a ZPM."

Nodding, Teyla continued. "That is correct. The Genii are under new leadership now, a man named Ladon Radim, and we have a tentative alliance with them. Kolya took John and offered to trade him for Ladon."

"You refused, of course," stated Joe evenly.

"Yes, we refused. Kolya then allowed a Wraith prisoner to feed on John until it had removed several years."

John still found himself unable to meet his father's eyes, but he heard the audible gasp when the man found out what had happened.

"He _purposely _allowed a Wraith to feed on John? How sick is this man?"

The disdain in Teyla's voice spoke volumes. "Very. He allowed the Wraith to feed on John three times, waiting three hours between each feeding to give Elizabeth time to change her mind. It was hard on her, as it was on all of us, to watch John in such pain. By the time we located the planet they were on, John and the Wraith had formed an alliance of sorts and escaped. He fed on John one last time to get enough strength to fight off the soldiers hunting them, bringing John to the point of death." She turned back to John and took his hand in hers, her voice growing softer as she spoke.

"And then he did something I had never even heard of, did not even know was possible. He restored all the years he had taken from John."

Joe scratched his head, confusion filling his face. "He returned the years he took? How is that possible?"

"I do not know," she said softy, smiling down at the pilot. "But he did."

John finally took a deep breath and looked up at the pair. "He said it was the gift of life . . . given only to worshippers . . . and brothers. Hey, dad, I forgot to tell you. I have a brother now and he's our sworn enemy. How's that for screwed up?" He could feel more tears sliding down his face and he pulled his hand away from Teyla to wipe them away. His whole body was trembling and he felt like his control slipping away like a lost paddle in a whitewater rapid. "Sorry . . . just can't . . . sorry . . . "

As Joe moved in closer to the bed, Teyla shifted out of his way, as if sensing what he was doing. He let the rail down and sat on the edge of the bed, next to his son. Leaning over, Joe carefully scooped John up in his arms and held him tightly to his chest. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you then, John, but I'm here now."

The strong arms around him, supporting him like they hadn't for a long time, were the last straw in John's battle to keep himself together. He buried his face in his father's shoulder, as the tears suddenly rushed forth like a current surging past a broken dam. He was six again, hurt and crying in his father's arms, letting everything go because he knew he was safe and he knew he was loved. The initial shame at falling apart was replaced by a torrent of emotion that buffeting him around relentlessly until he just gave in and let it carry him away.

oOo

Teyla let the door close behind her and stood for a moment before wiping the tears from her face. Taking a deep breath and looking up at the sound of familiar voices, she spotted Rodney and Ronon coming down the hall. Rodney was carrying a stiff paper tray with four drinks and Ronon carried a large sack of food.

"And _this _my friend may be the single most missed thing about Earth – no twenty-four hour carryout on Atlantis," said Rodney with a smile. The two men stopped short when Teyla continued to block the door.

"What gives? Is Sheppard okay?" asked Rodney.

Teyla took another deep breath to steady herself. "John and his father need a few moments to themselves." When they didn't look the least bit placated, she continued. "John had a rather bad nightmare about a Wraith feeding on his father. I then explained what had happened with Kolya. John became a little . . . upset and his father is comforting him. I think we should give them some time together . . . alone."

Ronon and Rodney exchanged an unhappy look and then the three of them made their way to the waiting room. Plopping into the chairs around the room, Rodney unwrapped and stuck a straw in one of the cups. "He's okay . . . right?"

Accepting a cup from Rodney, Teyla nodded. "I believe he will be. I think this may be part of the emotional release Dr. Beckett told us was needed. Did you get French fries?"

Smiling, Rodney sank into the chair, as his body seemed to relax. "Oh, yeah, you always get French fries," he said as Ronon began pulling food from the sack.

Half an hour later, they were beginning to get antsy when Joe rounded the corner and stood quietly in the doorway. They looked at him for a moment before standing and walking toward him. As the distance between them closed, Teyla noticed Joe's eyes were a little red.

"He's sleeping," Joe said quietly, exhaustion rounding his shoulders as he seemed to sag. "I think . . . I think he'll be out for a while."

"You need to rest," Teyla said, taking Joe firmly by the upper arm. "I can see that you are exhausted and tomorrow promises to be a long and exciting day. Perhaps you should go home to rest and you can pack your things in the morning. Rodney can go with you, since I believe he also has belongings there."

Joe smiled at the Athosian, resting his hand on hers. "Do you always watch out for your friends like this?"

"She does," replied Ronon without thinking.

"Then I'm very proud to be able to call you my friend." Joe looked back over his shoulder and sighed. "What if he wakes up? I need to be here for him."

"I will be here," assured Teyla, "as will Ronon. Dr. Beckett will return shortly and he can call you if there is any change."

Joe hesitated, the struggle within showing clearly on his face.

"I promise we will take care of him until you return." Smiling, she squeezed his arm a second. "We have watched over him before, on many occasions."

Finally nodding, Joe let go of her hand. "Right, you have. And you must have done well, because he's still around. I'll just . . . we'll be back in the morning. Do we know what time we're leaving?"

"Carson said it probably wouldn't be early, like around noon or something," said Rodney.

Joe nodded. "Okay. We'll stop on the way in and get breakfast for everyone."

"Go get some rest, both of you. We've got Sheppard's back," commanded Ronon.

Smiling, Joe held up his hand defensively as his tension began to ease a bit. "Alright, alright, you guys win, we're leaving. Just . . . let me know if he needs me and we'll come back."

Teyla took his arm again and began guiding him toward the hallway. "We will. Now leave please. I am beginning to understand where John gets his stubbornness from."

"His mother," Joe said quickly.

Raising one eyebrow, Teyla stared at Joe pointedly. "I would disagree."

oOo

Glancing at his watch, Joe sighed and stood up, pacing over to the window to look at the beautiful day outside. It was almost 1100 hours and John was still asleep. According to Teyla and Ronon, he'd barely moved all night. Joe and Rodney hadn't made it back to the hospital until almost 0900 hours because they'd both slept longer than intended. He supposed that was a sign that they had needed the rest, but it hadn't made their frantic efforts to get out of the house any easier. After packing, he'd had to contact the Cravens to fill them in and get them to keep an eye on his house. Then he'd contacted Morgan and Isaac to let them know he'd be gone a few days.

The door opening drew his attention, as well as that of John's team. Carson Beckett entered and gave them all a nod on his way to the sleeping pilot. Relieved to see the physician, Joe immediately joined him at John's bedside. "He's still asleep. Is that all right?" Ronon, Teyla, and Rodney had wandered up, forming a semi-circle around the bed.

Carson finished checking John's pulse and then smiled at Joe. "Aye, it's good actually. He's been sleeping deeply and that's what he needed. Teyla told me about what happened, and as hard for the Colonel as it was, it's what needed to happen. He's been shoving his emotions back and refusing to deal with them for at least three years that I know about, and probably for much longer. This has been building for a while now and it isn't going to be solved in one night. But he's on the right track now, at least."

Sighing with relief, Joe gave small nod. "Okay . . . I was just worried." Staring down at his son, features now slack with sleep, he couldn't seem to get the sight of his son falling apart in front of him out of his mind. The knowledge of what John had been through had given him his own nightmares and he hadn't even had to live through it. He felt almost as sorry for John's friends having to watch the horror as he did for John having to live it.

"He will be all right, Joe," said Teyla, seeing his concern.

"I know," Joe replied. "I just worry."

A soft knock made them all turn around as the door to the room slowly opened to reveal Isaac Knighten and Mark Wilson edging carefully in.

"Come in," Joe said, walking over to shake their hands. "John's asleep right now, but he's doing a little better."

"I appreciate the call this morning," said Isaac. "I just wanted to stop by and tell you everything looks good. Between witness statements and the physical evidence, Josh Byers won't be a free man for a long, long time. Give me a call when you get back in town and I'll probably know more about a trial date, in case you want to come."

Joe nodded several times. "I just may do that. Not much I'd enjoy more than seeing you guys put nails in his coffin. You'll have enough without Ronon and John's testimony?"

"Yes, we should. We have their statements and we have an official letter verifying that they will be unable to remain here to testify on the way, so we should be set."

"That's one reason I'm here," said Wilson. "I just wish John was awake to hear what I have to say."

"'m 'wake," came the soft, slurred statement. All eyes went to John, who seemed to be struggling against weighted lids to open his eyes. "Wha's up?"

Joe smiled at the faces John made as he tried to rouse himself back to the land of the conscious. It reminded him of times when John was a boy and desperately tried to stay up too late at night, insisting that he wasn't sleepy the whole time his eyelids danced around trying to remain open.

"I was on my way up to see you when I ran into Detective Knighten, here," said Wilson. "He tells me you're about to be shipped out to another hospital."

"Yeah, I think we're leaving after while," said John, his speech clearer as he finally seemed get himself awake. "What time is it?"

"Eleven," said Wilson.

John's eyes widened for a moment before narrowing as he frowned. "Eleven? Why did you let me sleep 'til eleven?"

"It's called self-preservation," answered Rodney, nodding his head toward Carson.

"Aye, that it was," agreed the physician. "You desperately needed the rest and I threatened anyone who woke you prematurely.

John rubbed the side of his face, his brow still furrowed in annoyance. "Yeah, but eleven? When is the . . . uh, when are we leaving?"

"Noon," said Carson.

"I gathered all your stuff from the house," said Joe. "I almost forgot it in my haste to pack my own stuff."

"Thanks, Dad. I kind of forgot about it too." John turned his attention back to Mark Wilson. "So, what's up? Shouldn't you be at school?"

Wilson grinned slyly. "Normally, yes, but I'm here to deliver a message and show you something. As you know, Kevin Byers was a thug and a bully, just like his father. Kids have been coming out of the woodwork for the last week with tales of him threatening them or worse. He apparently had a thriving drug business going, as well. So many of the students and their parents were very thankful that he's history. Add to that the fact that his father is headed for major jail time, along with his two hired henchmen, and you have one happy community. You are responsible for that, John."

Squirming uncomfortably below the covers, John frowned deeply. "No, not really. I just reacted to the situation with Kevin and Josh's stupidity got him caught, not me."

Wilson chuckled. "Still not one for the accolades, I see. I guess that's a good thing, Humility is another admirable quality. Anyway, you know some of the students in George's class were impressed with your talk and had wanted you to speak to the whole student body."

John looked up at the IV line and the monitors around the bed. "Guess I dodged that bullet, didn't I?" His features relaxed a little in obvious relief. "Who'd have thought being injured could turn out to be a blessing."

Wilson continued to smile in a way that soon had John rustling the covers again. "What have you done?" he asked flatly.

"Not me, the students," said Wilson defensively. "And some of the parents helped a little. They've decided to start something called Hometown Heroes and you're the first hero since it was started in honor of you. They want to pay homage to people from our city, particularly ones that spent some time in the school system like you did, that go on to do good things. This week is Lt. Colonel John Sheppard Week."

John closed his eyes, his face flushing red as he gripped the blanket covering him. "Oh, God, please tell me you're kidding."

"No, not at all. They dug around and found some pictures and got information from all kinds of places. There's still a few people around that went to school with you and some of us still remember having you in class. I got some information from your dad."

John glared at his father. "You _helped _him with this?"

Joe shrugged his shoulders. "I didn't actually know what he was doing. I just thought he was making conversation. Although if I had known what he was up to, I probably could have told him more."

"Traitor." John ran his hand through his hair, almost frantically. "You shouldn't have done this. I don't deserve something like this; I'm not a hero. There are plenty of people out there who are. You should pick one of them."

Sighing deeply, Wilson looked sadly at John. "I'm sorry you feel that way, because you're wrong. You are a hero, whether you want to admit it or not. And the people around here recognize it and appreciate it. I want you to see something." He looked around a moment and then picked up the TV remote, using it to turn on the set. Flipping purposefully through the channels, he stopped at one with a high school boy talking in front of a wall full of pictures and articles.

"This is our media class. They have their own channel for broadcasting and they produce a show every day. Today's show is about our Hometown Hero for this year. They will pick someone new every year, but you're the first." He paused and turned up the volume as everyone in the room moved to a position where they could see the small screen.

The boy was in the middle of talking about John's accomplishments in high school. When he talked about the pilot's math skills, they cut away to an interview with Mark Wilson. The boy continued with John's years on the baseball team and had a short interview with a man whose brother had been on the team with John. They then summarized his career in the Air Force, which had the injured man cringing as he waited for the black mark to show up. The student just talked about John's perseverance in trying to rescue a downed pilot when a rescue mission wasn't forthcoming, referring to John's belief that no man should be left behind.

They wrapped up the segment by reportinging he was currently doing classified work in an undisclosed location, after which they interviewed the two girls who had come to the house about his presentation to their class. The last part was about the scuffle in the cafeteria and the subsequent attack by Josh Byers. They talked to William, the boy that Byers had been bullying when the trouble began, as well as Detective Knighten.

They ended with the band playing _Off We Go Into the Wild Blue Yonder_ and what looked like most of the student body saying "We salute our Hometown Hero for 2007, Lt. Colonel John Sheppard of the United States Air Force."

The room was dead silent as Wilson turned off the television. No one said anything for several minutes as they just processed what they'd seen. Wilson turned to face John, the pilot averted his eyes.

"John, I know the kids that put this together, and I can tell you that the respect they displayed was very real. No matter what you may think of yourself, you _are_ a hero to them." Wilson smiled as he moved closer to John's side. "Look at me, John," he ordered gently."

After a moment's hesitation, John turned his head to look at his former teacher. "I just . . . I just don't get it. Why would they do this?" The wonder in his voice was almost childlike, sending a shiver down Joe's spine.

Wilson broke out in a bit smile. "You honestly don't know, do you? You give above and beyond, you always have. You put the safety and comfort of others ahead of yourself and that's a rarity these days. You're so willing to sacrifice yourself." Wilson's smile slowly dissolved away and he took in a long, deep breath.

"I wanted to tell you that I talked to William's father last night. The boy's had problems with ulcers for almost six months now and the doctor is pretty sure it's stress related. He told me that Kevin Byers has been harassing his boy almost since he started high school and the kid's a nervous wreck most of the time. I've got to tell you, that boy's family is very grateful to you right now. John, you were a good kid and you've grown into a fine man, one that we all can be proud of. I just wish you could see the value others see in you. You're worth a lot to your family and friends, and we somehow need to make you see that."

"I already know that," John insisted.

Looking down at the frail figure of his former student, Wilson frowned. "Do you? I don't think you do. I just hope that one day you can see yourself like the rest of us see you. I think you'd be surprised."

Joe stepped up to stand beside the teacher. "We're working on that right now. And thank you for this. It was amazing."

Smiling, Wilson just shrugged one shoulder. "I didn't do much. It was the kids. Anyway, I've got to get back to class. Good luck to all of you." Wilson shook hands with Joe and then turned back to John, holding his hand out. "Shake hands with an old teacher?"

John grabbed the offered hand with as firm a grip as he could muster. "Thanks Mr. Wilson, for everything. Tell the kids thank you for me, please. Tell them I'm sorry I couldn't do their assembly."

Wilson grinned. "So, you want me to lie to them?"

"Absolutely," John said honestly. "In this case, ignorance is bliss."

Wilson watched John for several seconds before sighing deeply. "Take care of yourself John. And come see us anytime you're in town."

"I will. That might be more often now," he said, smiling at his father.

Joe nodded. "I'm planning on it. Hopefully John and I will stay in contact after he goes back and I can keep everyone updated."

"That's good. Have a good trip, everyone," said Wilson.

"I'd better go too. Call me when you get back," said Knighten.

A chorus of goodbye's filled the room as the two men left. Rodney walked over to stand beside Joe and crossed his arms, a smug smile crossing his face. "So, Mr. Hometown Hero, are you sad to be leaving your fan club for the real world?"

John just smiled as he looked up at Rodney. "I live in a giant flying city that I can communicate with in my mind, in another galaxy that is running over with vampire-like creatures that suck the life out of you with their hand. I experienced six months of living in a few hours and I've almost been turned into a giant bug. Exactly which part of that sounds like the real world to you?"

TBC

_Sorry, I got long-winded (shock, shock) and didn't get them out of the hospital yet. Next chapter, I promise. Hope the Hometown Hero thing wasn't too sappy for you._


	18. Chapter 18

**Going Home - Chapter 18**

The minute they were beamed to infirmary of the _Daedalus_, medical personnel began working to get John settled. Rodney excused himself and rushed out the door, leaving a somewhat disoriented Joe behind. He watched John for a few moments, noting how his son seemed to take the whole procedure in stride, as did the others. Glancing around the room, it looked like the infirmary on any number of large ships he'd been on over the years. It was hard to believe this particular one was in space.

"How are you doing, Joe?" asked Teyla, who had appeared beside him. "It can be a little overwhelming at first."

Scratching his head, Joe nodded. "You can say that again. If you'd told me two weeks ago that I'd be standing on a hybrid alien spaceship orbiting the Earth soon, I'd have told you that you were crazy." He sighed and waved his hand in a wide arc. "And yet, here I am. Weird."

Ronon stepped up to join them. "Wait until you see the view from the bridge. It's pretty cool. I think it's Sheppard's favorite spot on the ship."

Joe grinned and glanced back at his son, who currently seemed to be whining to Carson about IVs and monitoring lines and other assorted tubing. "That's the pilot in him."

"Caldwell's here," said Ronon. Joe turned to see a tall, nearly bald man approaching them through the door.

"I'm Colonel Steven Caldwell, commander of the _Daedalus_."

Joe nodded, automatically straightening. "Colonel Joe Sheppard, U.S. Air Force, retired."

Caldwell smiled as he nodded his head towards John. "So he belongs to you, huh?"

"Yes, he does." _At least he does now, thank goodness. _"He can be a handful."

Smirking, Caldwell nodded. "So I've noticed."

"I can hear you, you know," came the annoyed retort from across the room. Glancing over, Joe had to smile at the frown on his son's face, so he walked over to stand beside Carson. Ronon, Teyla, and Caldwell followed. 

"You know it's true, Sheppard," said Ronon with a sly grin.

"No one asked you, Chewie," John said with a sigh. "You guys are going to make me regret this, aren't you?"

"Probably," said Joe. "Just relax and do what the doctor says, like a good little boy."

John closed his eyes and slapped his good hand over his face with a loud moan.

Caldwell chuckled and crossed his arms. "This could be very interesting and informative. Hermiod has some alignments to make with the navigational systems, so it'll be a couple of hours until we get where we can beam you down to the SGC. I thought you might like a brief tour of the _Daedalus_."

"Yes!" Joe said quickly and then realized how much he sounded like an excited child. "I mean, yes, that would be interesting," he said much more calmly. The smile on Caldwell's face was a proud one, so he quit worrying about sounding silly. Suddenly, he looked around at John. "Oh, John, I could stay here if you like, keep you company."

"Oh, no, I'm not going to keep an old pilot like you from the tour of a lifetime. Go, look and enjoy. I'll be fine. This is the next thing to being home."

"We will stay here with John in case he needs anything," said Teyla.

It didn't take any more convincing than that because Joe was dying to see the ship. "Okay, if you're sure."

"I'm sure," said John in an exasperated voice as he pointed to the door. "Go, already."

Nodding, Joe grinned broadly. "Okay, thanks son."

"Take care, Colonel," said Caldwell. "And don't worry, I'll try not to lose your father."

As they disappeared out the door, John stared at their backs. "Funny."

Thirty minutes later, Rodney came rushing down the hall carrying an object that looked like a short, fat flute. Instead of holes down the side, it had a series of buttons and lights. He stopped in front of Joe and Caldwell, blocking their way.

"Oh, good, I found you. I need to try something." The scientist thrust the object at Joe. "Here, take this. I want you to think . . . " He stopped as the object was handed off to Joe and immediately the lights down the side began to blink.

Startled, Joe almost dropped the thing. He felt strange, almost like a low hum of electricity was racing through his body, only to settle in the back of his head. It was scary at first, but soon settled into an almost comfortable sensation.

"I should have known," Rodney sighed. "Guess we know where gene boy gets it now."

"Gene?" asked Joe, feeling a little lightheaded. "What is this thing?"

Crossing his arms, Caldwell shook his head. "I'm guessing an Ancient device. Looks like you have the Ancient gene Colonel."

"Joe. Just call me Joe. I have the Ancient gene?" His mind was whirring as he stared at the lights flashing on the instrument in his hand.

"What were you thinking when I handed that to you?" asked Rodney.

Joe shrugged his shoulders, trying to remember. "I'm not sure exactly. I think I was just wondering what the thing was and what it did."

"I don't suppose you can tell what it does?" asked Rodney. "The only reason it's on the _Daedalus _is because I was sending it back to Daniel. All we could ever get it to do was the light show you have it doing now. I have no idea what it's intended to do and gene boy couldn't figure it out either."

"Gene boy?" asked Joe. "Are you talking about John?"

"Who else. He has the strongest Ancient gene to date, although I'd say you're pretty close. I need to run a couple of tests when we get to the SGC. They may be very interested in you if you turn out to have as strong a gene as I think you do. Try thinking it off."

The lights flickered a couple of times before going dark. Rodney took the cylinder and gave a small nod. "Oh, yeah, definitely interested in you," he muttered as he turned and headed down the hall, mumbling to himself occasionally.

Joe looked at his hand, flexing it as the tingling slowly faded away. The hum in his head was gone as well. He looked up to find Caldwell studying him and he suddenly felt awkward and weird. "Could we finish the tour now? This ship is incredible."

Caldwell smiled smugly at the change in subject, but nodded and resumed their path down the hallway. "Of course. This is all very strange, I know. It takes some getting used to."

They walked in silence for a few moments before Joe finally spoke again. "Do you mind if I ask you something?"

"Ask whatever you want, and I'll answer if I can," said Caldwell.

"I think I remember reading some things about you before I retired and, as I recall, they were very impressive. There were several people singing your praises, and these were people not easily impressed. That being the case, I value your opinion. This is going to sound like a loaded question, but it's not. I . . . I would like to know what you think of John's leadership ability . . . of the job he's doing."

Caldwell slowly came to a stop and turned to face Joe, his expression hard. "I'm not going to sugarcoat this because I've also heard a lot about you. I respect you enough to tell you what I honestly think. Lt. Colonel Sheppard still has a few things to learn. I don't necessarily agree with the way he does certain things. In his place, I could probably run Atlantis a lot more efficiently." Caldwell paused and his features relaxed a bit and he sighed deeply.

"That being said, I doubt I could ever command the loyalty he does. Oh, my men respect me and would do anything I asked, but your son . . . " He shook his head. "His soldiers would walk through hell for him and back if he asked. He's unconventional and it's not for everyone, but he gets the job done and . . . he does a good job. Part of me would love to have his assignment, but I can't honestly say that I would do a better job. And then there's the city." Caldwell rolled his eyes. "The city acts like he's its long, lost son."

Joe frowned, thinking of some of the things that Rodney had told him about the city hiding John from sensor readings when he wanted time alone, as well as other stories. Joe had thought the scientist was exaggerating the relationship. "What do you mean?"

Caldwell just sighed "Come on and I'll tell you some of the stuff I've heard on the way to the bridge."

oOo

When Joe returned to the infirmary, he was surprised to see John's bed empty. His stomach felt like it jumped up to his chest as he looked quickly around the room. Taking a deep steadying breath, he spotted Teyla talking to one of the nurses and headed for the two women.

"Joe, did you enjoy your tour of the _Daedalus_?" she asked.

"It was great. Where's John?"

"He's fine," said Teyla.

The nurse, about Teyla's height with short, blonde hair, smiled up at the retired colonel. "Colonel Sheppard convinced Dr. Beckett that he no longer needed the catheter, so Ronon is helping him use the facilities."

"Oh," Joe said, too surprised to comment on the new development.

"John was . . . rather insistent," said Teyla with a knowing smile.

The nurse suddenly focused on something across the room and then began moving away from them. Joe turned to see Ronon supporting John in the doorway to the restroom, his arm wrapped around the pilot's waist. They stepped outside the room and waited on the nurse to take hold of the IV stand before Ronon started shuffling John back towards the bed. It was all Joe could do to just stand and watch. Everything in him wanted to rush forward and grab his son. They moved at a painfully slow pace, with John's good arm thrown up and across Ronon's shoulders, his hand fisted into the big man's shirt.

There was almost no color to John's face and his eyes were squinted almost shut, his jaw obviously clenched in pain. As they moved closer, Joe could hear the way his son gasped every couple of steps. The nurse followed behind them rolling the metal stand along, but her eyes were focused on her patient.

"Two more steps, Sheppard. You can make it," Ronon encouraged. When they reached the bed, Teyla stepped up to John's other side and helped Ronon lower him to sit on the edge of the bed. They stopped, watching John pant and waiting on him to catch his breath before they continued. After a few seconds, John looked up at Ronon.

"That was four steps, not two. You need some counting lessons, Chewie," he said sourly.

Ronon snorted and crossed his arms. "It would have been two if you walked instead of shuffled."

John sat breathing heavily, his head down almost to his chest for several moments. "Yeah, well, it was all I could manage," he said softly.

Ronon patted him on the back. "It'll get better. Let's get you laying down before you fall off the bed."

"Sounds like a plan," John drawled. Teyla and Ronon helped their exhausted friend back into the bed and then Teyla fussed with the covers. The nurse quickly checked John's pulse and blood pressure.

"How was the tour?" asked John, looking up at his father.

Joe quickly pushed the worry aside, now that he was sure John was all right. "Great! This ship is . . . well, it's amazing. I actually got to look at the Earth from space. Do you know how amazing that is?" Joe laughed and shook his head. "What am I saying, of course you know."

John grinned, some color coming back into his cheeks now that he was horizontal again. "Yeah, but it never gets old."

Carson joined them, smiling down at John. "I see you made it back to your bed all right, Colonel. Are you still sure this was the way to go?"

"Yes," said John firmly. "Who knew it could feel so good to just . . . never mind."

"Believe it or not, I think I understand," said Carson. "The _Daedalus_ will be in position to beam us down to the SGC in about fifteen minutes, so we need to get ready. Colonel Caldwell has sent word to Rodney, so he should be here momentarily."

Joe was amazed at the excitement that thrummed through him. He couldn't wait to see what the stargate looked like. He was beginning to wish he was several years younger and had a chance at actually getting to go through it.

oOo

John poked at his red jell-o with his fork, watching it wiggle on the plate after every prod. He'd given up eating it after about three bites, when he quickly went from comfortably full to knocking on the door of queasy in almost a split second. His head and stomach and shoulder ached from all the moving around today and he was beyond tired. Still, he somehow felt too wired to sleep.

Ten minutes after arriving at Cheyenne Mountain some four hours ago, Cameron Mitchell and Teal'c had whisked his father off for the grand tour of the SGC. Ronon and Teyla had joined them since their brief visit to the base hadn't left time to see much of it. Shortly after they left, Carson and Dr. Lam had descended on him to draw blood and run him through a gauntlet of x-rays and tests that had sapped what little energy he had left. When they had finally finished, his father had been waiting for him along with some soup and jell-o.

"I thought you were old enough not to play with your food," Joe said with a smirk.

One corner of John's mouth turned up for a few seconds in an uneven, half-hearted smile. "Sorry," he said as he put his fork down on the tray table and pushed it away. Leaning his head back against the pillow, he rubbed his burning eyes.

"If you're tired, I can leave you to get some sleep," offered Joe, frowning at his son.

John smiled and dropped his hand. "No, I don't think I could sleep right now. You haven't said much about the stargate. What did you think?"

Sighing, Joe leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "It's probably the most amazing thing I've ever seen. We were just about to leave when a team came back, so I got to see them step through the gate." He looked over at his son incredulously. "And you do that every day?"

"Well, not every day, but a lot." John sighed and closed his eyes, seeing Atlantis in his head from the balcony near his room. "What you should really see is Atlantis, though. She's beautiful, Dad. And so amazing."

"And I hear she really favors you."

John looked back up at his father. "Who told you that?"

"Rodney told me some and Colonel Caldwell and I had a talk. He told me stories he's heard from men taking the _Daedalus _back to Earth. He seems to have a lot of respect for you."

Snorting, John shook his head, stopping the painful action after one time. "He wants my job and he finds fault with just about everything I do. I think he has me pegged as a screw-up."

"No, I don't think so. I'll admit, he said there were things he'd do differently, but he told me he thought you were doing a good job."

"Really?" John could hardly believe Caldwell would ever say that about him. "Strange. I was pretty sure he thought I had no business being the CO of a place like that."

"Not from what he said." Joe let out a long sigh. "Personally, I think I'd love either one of your jobs, especially over this retirement thing. We keep busy with our training exercises and old men breakfasts, but it's not the same. I miss the action, the heat of battle . . . heck, I miss the adrenalin rushes."

Staring at his father, John was glad he didn't have anything in his hand as he probably would have dropped it. He hadn't seen this coming, even though when he thought about it, he should have. "I thought you kind of liked retirement."

"Yeah, for about a month," said Joe in disgust. "Been bored ever since." He looked up at John and smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, I shouldn't have laid this on you, not after what you've been through."

John just continued to stare at his father for a few moments. "No, you needed to tell me. I want to know this stuff about you. I want to know everything about you. I'm not the only one who needs to share things, you know."

Nodding, Joe grinned. "You're right."

Talking in the hallway caught their attention and they looked over to see Rodney come bustling in the door, followed by Sam Carter and Daniel Jackson. "Hey, Joe, there you are. See, I told you this is where he'd be. Sheppard, we need to borrow your dad for a little while."

John frowned up at Rodney, unsure of what two physicists and an archaeologist could want with his father. "Why?" he drawled suspiciously.

Rodney rolled his eyes. "We need to see how strong your father's gene is, what else."

"What?" John bolted up in the bed and then fell back against the pillows, pulling his knees up part way to ease the pain lancing through his gut at the sudden movement.

"John!" His father was up and beside him in an instant. "John, are you okay?"

Swallowing in between spasmodic gasps for air, John finally felt the pain ease enough he could talk. "S'kay, dad, I'm . . . okay." He took a minute just to breathe, feeling the pain ease and his heart rate slow. "You . . . have the Ancient gene?"

Running his hand through his hair, Joe sighed and nodded. "Yeah, apparently. Rodney handed me something that lit up while we were on the _Daedalus."_

Looking around his father, John saw Rodney's mouth come open a little as a look of guilt crossed his face. "I uh, just thought I'd see. I mean, it makes sense that since you have such a strong gene, that your father might have it too." Straightening, Rodney crossed his arms as a smug look replaced the one of guilt. "And I was right. He not only has the gene, he's got it pretty strong."

John couldn't really fault Rodney for wanting to know. He'd wondered the same thing himself on more than one occasion. And the natural gene carriers were still so few and far between as to be a valuable find. Relaxing even more into the mattress and pillows, John let out a long breath. "You'd better go with them, Dad."

"John, we can do this another time if you'd rather," offered Carter. "I know you don't get to see your father much and I hate to drag him away."

"Although we really won't keep him long," said Daniel.

"No, it's fine. I'm getting tired anyway," admitted John. "Go with them, but you have to tell me what they found out."

Joe looked uncertain and still more than a little worried. "I can do it later. I think I should stay here with you."

"No, Dad, go, I'm fine. I think I may take a nap while you're gone and we can talk more when you get back. Besides, I'd kind of like to know the results myself."

Joe studied his son before finally acquiescing. "Okay, if you're sure."

"I'm sure, now go. I'll have someone call you if I need you, okay?"

Nodding uncertainly, Joe said, "Okay."

Rodney began herding Joe out the door before he had a chance to change his mind. Carter came over to give John's arm a squeeze. "Don't worry, I won't let McKay worry him to death."

"Just don't let him get Dad to touch anything that he isn't completely sure won't hurt him. Rodney can get excited about figuring out new devices and then I usually get some infirmary time. When my father gets back down here, he'd better be walking on his own two feet or someone answers to me."

Carter nodded with a grin. "I'll make sure he stays safe."

"Thanks." John watched Carter follow Daniel out the door and then let his head ease back against the pillow again. He really was tired. He lay several minutes, just staring unfocused across the room. He startled a bit when Carson spoke to him from end of the bed.

"Colonel? I'm sorry, lad, didn't mean to make you jump."

Rubbing his face, John noticed a tall man about their age, with dark curly hair, accompanied Carson "It's fine, Carson. I guess I must have dozed off for a minute."

Carson tilted his head toward the man with him. "This is Dr. Greg Robbins. He'll be traveling to Atlantis with us to join the medical staff there and orthopedics is his specialty."

John gave a small nod to the man. "I'm Lt. Colonel John Sheppard. With my luck, I'll probably be seeing a lot of you."

"So I've heard," Robbins said with a light chuckle. "Dr. Beckett and I have been studying your test results. I'm sure you already know that you'll need surgery to repair your shoulder injury."

John felt his stomach knot up at the thought of more surgery. Another round of anesthesia and all the nausea and fuzzy-headedness that came with it, followed by lots of pain and weakness and IVs and catheters. John suddenly felt sick.

"Colonel, are you all right?" asked Carson.

"When?" John managed to strangle out, all the time screaming, _No, no, no _in his head.

Robbins looked nervously at Carson before looking back down at John. "I really think this needs to be taken care of sooner rather than later. I'd like to do it before we head back to Atlantis, so then you'll have the trip back in which to recover. Dr. Beckett and I have discussed it and we think we could do it first thing in the morning."

John felt like the room was spinning and he closed his eyes against the dizzy, lightheaded feeling. Tomorrow. He was just getting mobile again and they wanted to put him back down with tubes and wires and pain. He couldn't. Not this soon. He just couldn't face it again. "Can't . . . can't we wait?" He knew he sounded like a whiney, scared kid and he didn't care. He was scared. He was terrified of going through hell again.

"I don't think that's wise." John's eyes were closed, but he recognized the soft, comforting voice and the rich, Scottish accent.

"I assume you want to regain full use of your arm," said Robbins. "In order to ensure that happens, we need to do the surgery before we leave for Atlantis. It isn't going to go away, Colonel." The physician sounded slightly annoyed and John knew he didn't understand an Air Force colonel's reluctance for some simple surgery. He probably thought John was being a big baby.

"Colonel," said Carson as he placed a strong hand on John's good shoulder. "I know this is soon after everything else that's happened, but it really needs to be done now. By the time we get back to Atlantis, you'll be on your feet again and bothering everyone."

Looking up into Carson's caring eyes, John knew the doctor would never even suggest this unless he was certain it was the best thing. He knew what John had been through and seemed to understand better than most the pilot's aversion to more surgery. "Okay," he mumbled. "Do it."

Turning his head, he focused on the wall. His mind was racing and his stomach was churning and he just wanted to be left alone. He didn't want Dr. Robbins staring at him like he was a freak and he didn't want Carson's sympathy. He just wanted to sulk by himself.

"Colonel, I'm sorry," said Carson softly before leading Dr. Robbins from the room. John was grateful they were gone. Closing his eyes, he took a few deep breaths, trying to get a handle on his nausea as well as his wild emotions. He almost laughed when the thought occurred to him that he was acting like a woman with her hormones running amuck. He'd better never mention that thought to Teyla.

He wasn't sure how long he lay like that, staring at the wall and wishing all of this would just go away. He heard McKay laughing and talking, loudly and quickly, as usual. Taking a deep breath, he focused on pulling himself together. He turned his head just in time to see his father walking through the doorway with Rodney.

"So, how'd it go?" John asked, trying not to sound anything like he felt.

Rodney grinned broadly. "Well, he's not as strong as you, but he's pretty close. Probably about equal with General O'Neill."

"That's great, Dad. Better watch yourself, or they'll put you to work."

Joe grinned at the suggestion. "And what's wrong with that?"

"Sam's already on the horn to General O'Neill, so don't be surprised if they try to get you to move here and work for the SGC," said Rodney. "Who knows, you may end up in Atlantis."

"No," said John sternly. "He doesn't come to Atlantis. It's too dangerous." He could see his father dying at the hand of the Wraith as clearly as if it had really happened.

Joe's face turned dark, the smile leaving very quickly. "John, what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, I just don't want you in Atlantis. It's dangerous and . . . I can't be sure I could protect you."

Snorting, Joe crossed his arms. "Since when do I need someone to protect me?" Staring at his son, he sat down in the chair next to the bed. "John, what's wrong? What happened?"

John took a deep breath and looked away from his father. "They want to do surgery on my shoulder tomorrow, get it over with before we leave for Atlantis. It's no big deal."

Sighing long and deep, Joe reached out to grip his son's forearm. "It _is _a big deal when you've already been through so much. I'm sorry, John."

"No problem, should be simple." John looked up at his father's worried expression. Rodney stood just behind Joe with a stricken look on his face. He was scaring them and he had to get his act together and stop. "So, you say my gene's better than dad's?"

Clearing his throat, Rodney nodded, stammering a moment as he caught onto what John was doing. "Yes, well, like I said, your father's gene is about as strong as O'Neill's, but not quite as strong as yours." He stopped and seemed to think a moment. "It's too bad we can't get hold of your mother's DNA. I'll bet she had the gene too. That's got to be why yours is so strong."

"Yeah, well, she's been dead a long time, Rodney. I doubt that's going to happen," said John.

"I know," said Rodney reluctantly. "It would be nice to know, though. You could be a whole family of Ancient descendents."

That reminded John of his time in the Cloister and he sighed as he remembered how easily he'd been healed back then. "I could sure use Hedda right now," said John wistfully.

"You can do this, you know." Rodney looked at John until the pilot finally glanced away.

"I guess," he replied weakly.

Rodney shook his head. "No, there's no guessing. We're all here for you and you _can _ do this. This is the part where you let us help you. You can scream or cry or throw things or cuss up a storm, whatever you need to do. Just let us be there and lean on us when you need to. If gripping my hand 'til my fingers break will help, then do it." Rodney frowned a moment. "Well, maybe I don't want you to break my fingers, but the rest of the offer stands."

The intense babbling, coupled with the look of combined panic and concern on Rodney's face, made John laugh. Pressing his good hand to his stomach, John laughed until his breathing hitched and Rodney called Carson in a blind terror, thinking John had done something to himself. This made John laugh harder. After a few minutes, Joe and Carson began to laugh, along with the nurse. Rodney finally yelled something about them all being crazy and left. When the laughing finally died down and they had all dried their faces, John looked at Carson.

"I want lots of drugs the first couple of days. I'd prefer not to even know my name for a while, at least until the pain isn't so sharp and fresh," John said solemnly.

Carson looked a little surprised, but then smiled down at his patient. "I think I can oblige that, Colonel. You just keep telling me what you need, and I'll try to make it happen if I can. We'll get you through this one too, lad."

John took in a slow, deep breath and then blew it out. "I know you will. That's what's keeping me sane right now."

"I'm going to get you something to help you relax. You probably won't see us for a couple of days, at least you won't be aware of it. But I'll make sure you're well taken care of."

"I know. Thanks Carson." John watched the doctor leave and then turned to his father. "How long can you stay?"

"I'm here until you take off for Atlantis. General Landry said they would arrange to get me back to California."

John nodded. "Dad . . . I'm really glad you're here."

Nodding, Joe leaned over to lay his hand on John's arm. "I wouldn't be anywhere else."

TBC

_I think I can wrap this up in one more chapter, so we're almost done._


	19. Chapter 19

**Note:** Okay, I _almost_ finished. I saved the last scene for an epilogue because that just seemed fitting. Plus, that makes a nice, even 20 chapters. I know, I'm weird. Oh, and Happy Thanksgiving!!

**Going Home - Chapter 19**

Slow gentle voices began pulling him from the soft cocoon of sleep and he resisted. But they were insistent, prodding until he could almost make sense of them.

"Come on, Colonel, just a moment to know you're okay and then back to sleep with ya," promised the familiar voice. A small flash of light and blurry image later, the soft voices and the warm flow of something in his veins soothed the building pain and he drifted back into the darkness.

Voices again, and light touches. They drifted in and out in waves just along the edge of his consciousness. He didn't like the voices, because as they seemed to come closer and get louder, the pain sharpened and pushed him out of his comfort zone. He was only vaguely aware of the moan that escaped his lips, but then the voices silenced and the soft comfort of the darkness enveloped him again.

When he opened his eyes, it surprised him. He hadn't been aware he was waking up, and yet now he was. Blinking, he noted disdainfully that his eyes seemed partially glued together with eye-goo, his vision was blurred, and he was ravenously thirsty. Bringing his good arm up to wipe across his eyelids, he groaned slightly at the motion that pulled on his injured shoulder.

Surgery. Oh, yeah, no wonder it hurt.

"John? Son, how do you feel?"

Letting his heavy arm drop back down to the bed, John rolled his head slightly to one side to see his father, brow furrowed in concern. He tried to lick his lips, but his mouth was dry and his throat scratchy from disuse. Picking up on his discomfort, his father quickly raised the head of the bed a little and then poured water into a cup from a waiting pitcher. John was too weak to help, but the man seemed aware of this as he brought the straw to John's lips.

"Slowly, and just a little. Carson said for you not to drink too much at one time."

A few small sips later, the straw was removed and John concentrated on the relief of the cool liquid sliding down his rough throat. At least now he could lick his lips so that it helped. "Thanks," he croaked out, his voice low and gruff. He cleared his throat, which helped alleviate the feeling that he was about to choke on something.

Glancing around his bed, he noted that his team was here in addition to his father. They had been sitting in scattered chairs, but now stood surrounding him.

"Nice to have you back, Sheppard," said Ronon, crossing his arms with a grin.

"Thanks, big guy. How long . . . have I been out?" He knew it had been a while by the way he felt. He hated the drugged, lethargic feeling weighing his body down, but he hated the sharp post-surgery pain even worse right now, so this was definitely the lesser of two evils.

"Your surgery was three days ago," responded Joe. "Carson kept you pretty drugged until this morning. He said it was time he let up and let you back in the land of the conscious. How's the shoulder?"

Three days, down the tubes. Three days he could have spent with his father. He was beginning to regret his choice. "Not bad . . . hurts, but more of a dull throb than anything. That, I can handle. I shouldn't have had him drug me so much. We lost three days and I know we'll be heading back soon."

"No, John, you made the right decision," his father insisted. "The first couple of days after any kind of surgery can be miserable and you didn't need that right now. What you needed was rest. If you hadn't let him keep you medicated, I probably would have stepped in and insisted. You needed that and you know it as well as I do. That's why you requested it in the first place."

John sighed, knowing his father was right. "I guess. I just hate losing the time, you know?"

Joe smiled at his son. "We'll have lots of time, now that we've started talking again. I know where to email you now and General Landry said I could send packages through the _Daedalus_. And I fully expect you to come visit when you can. We'll be a part of each other's lives again."

Thinking about the contact that was now possible, John had to smile. "Yeah, that will be nice."

"Now that your father is working for the SGC, you two can contact one another all the time," said Rodney happily.

John's eyes widened. "What?"

Grimacing, Joe glared at Rodney. "I was going to talk to him about that when he was more awake."

"Oh, uh, sorry," Rodney mumbled, looking down guiltily. "I guess I forgot he didn't know."

Joe turned back to John. "Dr. Beckett wouldn't let us sit with you the first two days. Said he was keeping you knocked out and there was no reason for us to clutter up the place. He let us check on you for thirty minutes after breakfast and thirty minutes after supper and we were banned the rest of the time. During that time, I met with General Landry and General O'Neill and –"

"Wait," interrupted John. "Did you just say General O'Neill?"

Nodding, Joe continued. "Yes, I did. We met with Colonel Carter and a couple of the scientists. Anyway, they have some projects they want me to help with, or rather, they want my gene to help with, so I'm kind of hired on as a consultant on an as-needed basis. They said they would probably fly me out here once every two or three months for a few days. But the really nice thing is that this comes will all kinds of security clearance, so I'll get to stay updated on what's happening in your neck of the universe."

Frowning, John chewed his lower lip briefly. "I'm not sure I like the idea of you keeping tabs on me."

Grinning, Joe slapped him on the leg. "Guess this means you'll have to stay out of trouble. Because if you don't, I'll know about it."

"Great," John muttered. "I'm a Lt. Colonel in the Air Force stationed in a totally different galaxy and my Dad is still keeping tabs on me. This is so unfair."

"Maybe we should exchange email addresses," said Rodney. "I could keep you in the loop."

"No," said John firmly. "He exchanges email addresses with no one in this room."

"Too late for that, Colonel," said Carson Beckett as he joined them. "I've already agreed to keep him updated on your recovery."

Groaning, John briefly closed his eyes. "I thought there were some kind of new privacy laws preventing that sort of thing."

"Exactly who would you report me to?" asked Carson smugly, continuing after a moment of silence. "That's what I thought. I'm hoping this will ensure that you are on your best behavior during your recovery and physical therapy."

"Looks like I won't have a choice."

"Perhaps you will be able to . . . keep tabs on your father as well," suggested Teyla.

John looked up, his expression brightening. "Hey, I hadn't thought of that. Great idea, Teyla."

Joe sighed as he glanced at the smiling Athosian. "And here I thought we were friends."

"We are," said Teyla, grinning as she placed on hand on Joe's arm and the other on John's. "We are all more than friends. We are family."

"In that case," said Joe with a bright smile, "I guess I'd better keep tabs on all of you."

oOo

By mid-afternoon, John was getting restless. He'd managed to get down a little soup, taken two naps, and was starting to feel more like himself. Rodney beat him two games in a row at chess, which just told him his mind was still fuzzy from the drugs. It told Rodney something completely different, leading him to dance down the hall singing about finally beating Sheppard at chess.

Carson finally came through with an offer he couldn't refuse. "Colonel, if you feel like it, I think it's time we got you up and moving. I'm thinking we could remove some of your tubing and let you take a little walk, followed by sitting in the chair for a few minutes."

Part of John cringed at the thought, the part that hated the sharp pain that came with the first movement after surgery. But the stubborn, fighting part of him was sick of lying around in bed, pain or not. "Let's do it, Doc," he urged. He didn't miss the relief that crossed Beckett's face, making him realize how worried the doctor had been at the prospect of getting John on his feet again. "Sorry, Doc, about before."

Carson stilled and looked confused, tilting his head slightly as he stared at John. "Sorry about what, Colonel?"

John sighed and looked down at his hand, rolling a bit of blanket nervously between his finger and thumb. "You know . . . for whining about the surgery."

Running one hand through his hair, Carson let out an audible sigh. "Colonel . . . you have nothing to apologize for. You had every right to be concerned, especially after all you've been through. I dare say most of us would have been in tears at the prospect. I merely did not want to rush you about getting up. I know it's been three days since your surgery, but to you it's only been one."

Letting his head rest against the pillows, John returned his gaze to Carson. "I know, but the pain isn't bad right now. It's constant, but . . . it isn't that sharp, biting pain that takes your breath away. I can handle this okay. I'm tired of being a weak invalid, lying around in bed worrying everyone. I need to get up. I need to get my life back."

"That you will, Colonel, and we'll get started right away. We'll just need a bit of privacy for a moment." Carson waved his hand to shoo everyone out the door for a few moments while he took care of the catheter. Allowing everyone to return, he got Ronon to help him get John up. They got him situated on the side of the bed and let him sit for a moment to orient himself.

"Hey . . . could I get some scrubs instead of this gown?" asked John.

Carson grinned like he'd won the lottery. "I thought you'd never ask," said the physician. "You'll have to settle for scrub bottoms, though, on account of your shoulder."

"That's fine. I've had enough of these gowns to last me a lifetime."

Chuckling, Carson nodded. "I understand, Colonel. Let's get you up and while Ronon assists you to the facilities, I'll get those pants for you." Seconds later, Ronon had John in his grasp and they were shuffling across the room, very similar to their trip of a few days before. John really hated the backtracking they were having to do, but at least he was finally making progress. Hopefully this time all their motion would be forward.

It was only when they reached the restroom that John noticed his father was the one pushing the IV stand behind them. He let go of Ronon to lean on the sink. "Okay, I can take it from here."

Smiling, Ronon put his hands on his hips. "You sure?"

John sighed heavily. "Look, it's been a long time since I've had any privacy or dignity, so I'd appreciate the opportunity to relieve myself alone for once."

Carson showed up with a pair of scrub pants and held them out. "I believe you wanted these."

Ronon took them and looked at John. "Can you put these on by yourself with one hand?"

John considered how heavily he had to lean against the sink, processing the knowledge that if he let go, he'd probably end up in the floor. Moaning in defeat, he glanced back up at Ronon. "Heck, no. Okay, you might as well come in for the whole show. I'll be doing a matinee performance at two."

As Ronon took hold of the IV stand, pushing it into the room just ahead of him, he looked up at John. "What's a matinee?" he asked as he closed the door.

John was pretty sure he heard his father and Carson laugh just before the door closed. Ten minutes and one red face later, John emerged from the room in scrub pants and his gown, Ronon's ever steady arm supporting him as they did their infirmary shuffle back across the medical facility. A larger, more comfortable chair and been set up next to his bed and Carson was motioning them towards it.

"Let's help the Colonel get settled here for a few minutes," he instructed. He then helped Ronon ease the pilot into the chair.

Grateful for the fact that he was finally sitting, John stretched his trembling legs out in front of him and leaned back into the soft cushions. A much sharper ache had been building in his shoulder for the last few minutes and that, combined with the efforts of walking, had a sheen of sweat forming across his forehead. And he was incredibly thirsty all of a sudden.

"John, son, are you okay?" asked his father in concern. "You look kind of pale."

"Are you dizzy, Colonel?" asked Carson.

"Just a little lightheaded," responded John. "Could I get some water?" John was actually starting to feel a little floaty and was having trouble concentrating on his surroundings. Teyla was suddenly beside him with a cup of water, the straw jutting out of the cup just in front of his lips. "Thanks," he murmured before leaning forward to take several sips.

"Not too fast, Colonel," chided Carson and Teyla responded by pulling the straw from his mouth. He was still thirsty, but the drink had helped, so he gave Teyla a small nod.

There were several moments of silence in which his team, the doctor, and his father just stood around looking at him like they were waiting on him to fall out of the chair. John decided he couldn't take it any more. "So, Dad, do you know what they'll have you doing yet?"

Joe shook his head. "Not much, just activating some Ancient devices and trying out some hybrid technology they've been developing."

"Well, ask questions before you latch onto anything and start activating it. I've been zapped more than once because a certain someone had no idea what the device did or because it was broken. Some of that stuff can be incredibly dangerous."

Rodney snapped his head up and narrowed his eyes at John. "And of course by _certain someone _you mean me. It's not my fault that this stuff doesn't come with an instruction manual so that the only way to figure out what it's for is to activate it. And it's also not my fault that after 10,000 years or more, some of the devices aren't in perfect working order. I haven't seen any manufacturer's warranty on any of this stuff."

"Hey, I'm just warning my dad to be careful is all. Some of this stuff bites," said John innocently. A loud buzzing suddenly filled John's head and his whole body felt like an electrical pulse had rippled down it from his head to his feet. His vision whited out with the buzzing and he felt like he was falling. He wasn't sure how long it lasted, but he finally realized the noise was gone and he was lying on the floor looking up at everyone.

"Colonel, just take it easy and don't try to move," said Carson, kneeling beside his right shoulder. "We caught you and eased you to the floor, so I don't think you've hurt yourself further. You should have told me you were getting dizzy and we'd have gotten you back to bed."

John blinked a few times, still waiting on his mind to clear. "What ? I didn't . . . wait . . ." The buzzing was gone, but there was still a little thrum in the back of his head. Now that the sensation wasn't so overwhelming, he realized what it was and smiled. "Atlantis."

"Oh, God, this is bad," mumbled Rodney worriedly. "He thinks he's back in Atlantis. Are you sure he didn't hit his head?"

John reached out to Atlantis, to tell her he was coming home soon, but the connection was suddenly severed, washing him with dizziness again. When next he opened his eyes, Carson was getting him settled in the bed.

"Colonel, are you back with us?" he asked, stopping his fussing with the blanket to eye his patient.

John rubbed his face and sighed as the last remnants of the fog cleared from his brain. "Yeah, she's gone now."

Joe frowned and cocked his head to one side. "Who's she?"

Looking at his father, John chewed his lip a moment before answering. "Atlantis. I felt her for a moment. It's been so long . . . it was kind of a rush and I guess it just overwhelmed me."

"That's amazing," said Rodney as he walked across the room. "I just talked to Walter. They were receiving a databurst from Atlantis about the time you passed out. I guess you really did feel Atlantis."

"From here?" asked Carson and Joe simultaneously.

"Apparently," answered Rodney. "I think she misses you."

"Feeling's mutual," responded John, feeling empty now that he could no longer detect her presence. He missed the gentle hum in the back of his head. Funny how something mildly annoying at first had become something cherished over time.

Scratching his head, Joe sighed. "I'm really beginning to hope I get to see this Atlantis one day."

Footsteps and voices began filtering in from the hall, garnering everyone's attention as General O'Neill, General Landry, and Cameron Mitchell entered the room and joined the group around John's bed.

"Sheppard," O'Neill said. "Looks like you've managed to stay out of trouble for a few days. At least I haven't had to get you out of jail recently."

Wincing, John tried to sit a little straighter since he was in the presence of two generals. "For the record, sir, I wasn't really _in_ jail, they were just questioning me. But thank you for getting them to see reason so I could leave."

"No problem and go back to slouching. You're injured, for heaven's sake, you don't have to sit at attention for us," admonished O'Neill.

Relaxing just a tiny bit for appearances sake, John nodded. "Uh, yes, sir."

"That's marginally better. I just wanted to come by and check on you before I left. I have to get back to . . . doing general things. How are you faring these days?"

"Well, you'd better call down here and warn Carson the next time you open the gate to Atlantis so we don't have to pick Sheppard off the floor again."

"McKay," scolded John sharply.

O'Neill held his hands out and raised his brow in a questioning gesture. Carson sighed and gave Rodney a glare before explaining. "We had the Colonel up and sitting in the chair when you apparently opened a wormhole to Atlantis. The Colonel here was a bit overwhelmed by the effects of the contact and I'm afraid he passed out."

"Twice," said Rodney proudly. "He fainted twice."

"Passed out," corrected John.

"Will you two stop that?" said Carson.

O'Neill stared at John. "You could feel Atlantis from here just because we had the gate open? That's amazing . . . and a little disturbing."

John went to shrug his shoulders, but gave up the notion quickly at the pull on his sore shoulder. "Yeah, it's usually not so strong. I'm not sure if she was pushing the contact more strenuously or if I just reacted badly because I was already a little lightheaded."

"Or maybe both," added Joe. John nodded, realizing that was the most likely answer to what had happened.

Landry looked from John up to Carson. "Dr. Beckett, we need to know when Colonel Sheppard will be able to travel. Colonel Caldwell is anxious to get started since he's already behind schedule."

Carson took in a deep breath and looked sadly down at John. "Well, I wouldn't mind giving him another day, but realistically, we could leave tomorrow."

Landry smiled and gave a quick nod. "That will make Caldwell a happy man. I'll inform him at once and get back to you on what time he'll beam the lot of you up to the _Daedalus_." Satisfied, the general turned around and left.

Mitchell stood smiling in the doorway for a moment and then looked right at Rodney. "Hey, McKay, catch!" He tossed something yellow at the physicist, who immediately thrust his arm up in front of his face. The yellow thing bounced off his forearm and fell to the floor, skittering several feet away to land near O'Neill's feet.

"Arrest him," Rodney sputtered angrily, his face turning red. "Or court martial him or throw him in the brig!"

O'Neill leaned down to pick up the yellow thing and held it out for all to see. "You want me to arrest him for throwing a plastic lemon at you?" asked the general, his expression and tone both neutral.

Rodney's eyes widened and took one step closer, peering at the offending object. "Plastic?"

"Yes, plastic," O'Neill said in a bored tone. Mitchell was laughing hysterically and John and Ronon were also chuckling.

Rodney wheeled around and faced John, thrusting his index finger out in John's face. "This is your fault."

Frowning, John shook his head. "How is this _my _fault? I'm the one who can't make it across the room to use the facilities by myself, remember."

"Because you gave him that lemon in Atlantis and told him to use it on me. You started this whole thing. I give up my one chance in who knows how long to visit my sister and her family to come do the bedside vigil thing for you, _yet again, _and this is how you treat me. I don't even know why I try."

John felt guilt close in, squeezing his chest, and his expression immediately sobered. "Rodney . . . I'm sorry. You're right, I should have . . . I didn't know this would happen. I'm sorry I messed up your time with your sister." He felt like the scum of the Earth for his part in upsetting Rodney, after everything the man had done for him.

Rodney suddenly grinned. "Gotcha! They were driving me crazy. I love my sister, but there's only so much of that family togetherness I can take and that was about my fill." He interlaced his fingers and stretched his hands out in front of him, popping several knuckles. "You aren't the only one that can play the baiting game."

John stared at Rodney for a few seconds, almost unable to believe what he was hearing. Apparently Rodney's learning curve for these things was a little steeper than John had given him credit for. A smile turned up one side of his mouth. "I'm impressed Rodney. I didn't know you had it in you." And then he started to laugh, forgetting for the moment that this was his last night with his father.

oOo

They had all gathered in the infirmary with their luggage to be beamed back aboard the _Daedalus._ Carson and Ronon helped John out of the bed and into a wheelchair for the transport, his IV bag hanging on the pole in the back of the chair. They then left him to gather some of the other stuff so he'd have a few minutes with his father. Joe sat down in the chair in front of John.

"Well, guess this is it. We knew it would happen," said Joe matter-of-factly.

"Yeah. Too bad that doesn't make it any easier." John smiled his lop-sided grin, although it felt superficial. "This is different. Always before when we parted ways, I was kind of relieved it was over. Now . . . well, it's just the opposite. I'm sorry we spent most of my visit in the hospital."

"Not your fault, John, and don't you forget that. You did some good while you were here. Don't forget that either. And I'll see you again. I'll be sending emails through your information exchange each week and I'll round up some good care packages for you. I'd send you one of Mary's pies if I thought it would make it."

John's eyes lit up. "Oh, that would be sweet. I wonder if we could freeze it? I may have to check into that. I promise to send you messages too, not that you'll need it with your network of informants."

Joe clasped his hand around John's wrist. "I want to hear from _you._ I want to know what you're doing and how you are. I want to know if you're having trouble."

John nodded. "I know, I will. Same with you. Tell me everything you're doing and about your projects and . . . everything." John looked down at his feet a moment before lifting his eyes to meet his father's. "Dad . . . thanks for everything . . . I'm not sure I'd have made it through this without you. I know I still have some things to work out, but I think I can do that now. I think I better appreciate my support system and how to use them."

"And you'd better do just that. Let them help you, John. Everyone needs help some times and there's no shame in that. Son . . . I love you."

Suddenly it felt like something was crushing his chest and his lids felt heavy with moisture. John sucked in a deep breath and force himself to remain composed, refusing to lose control again. "I love you too, Dad," he managed to say around the large knot blocking his throat. His father leaned forward and wrapped his arms around him, carefully avoiding his injured shoulder and sore ribs. John let his one good arm go around his father's back and pressed his forehead into Joe's shoulder. He focused on remembering the feel of his father's embrace, the way his shirt felt on John's skin, the way he smelled. John knew the memory would have to last him months, if not years and that thought threatened to undo his careful hold on his emotions.

"John, it is time to go." Teyla's quite voice filled him with dread and he made himself pull away from his father. Straightening in his chair, he looked into the man's eyes, burning the image of his face in his head. His father's eyes were filled with unshed tears, as he suspected his were.

"Bye, Dad," he whispered, because that was all he could manage.

"Goodbye, John." His father's voice was equally soft and unsteady.

Ronon rolled the wheelchair over to where the others were assembled. John never took his eyes off his father as he heard General Landry radio that they were ready. A few seconds later, his father faded from view, along with the rest of the infirmary.

TBC


	20. Chapter 20

**Author's Note: **First of all, many THANKS to all of you reading and reviewing. You guys really blew me away on this one. And another round of thanks to Kathy, Shelly, and Julie for assorted feedback and beta help. Second, I've become rather fond of Joe and received many requests for him to make a trip to Atlantis, so I'm planning a sequel in the near future where Joe gets to do just that.

**Going Home - Epilogue**

Elizabeth breezed through the door to the pier, barely noticing the gentle wind that caressed her hair as she stepped outside. Her attention was focused on the _Daedalus_, or rather the people disembarking from the parked ship. As she drew closer, she finally saw what she had been anxiously searching for and felt her heart skip a beat. Teyla and Ronon walked down the ramp, talking and laughing together. Directly behind them was John, his left arm in a sling, walking carefully beside Colonel Caldwell. Rodney and Carson followed, with Rodney talking nonstop and Carson studying the gait of the man in front of him.

She moved her eyes back to John. He didn't look that different from when he left and she found that sad. He'd been gone over a month and the only real improvement she saw was he no longer limped and his arm was not bound tightly to his torso as it had been. He still looked too pale and too thin, still carrying himself carefully in obvious attempt not to jar sore ribs. Three steps past the bottom of the ramp, he staggered as if he might fall, but Caldwell quickly grabbed his arm to steady him and she hurried her pace.

"John?" she called, not bothering to hide her concern.

Carson had stepped up to check on the pilot, but John was already waving off the hands that had helped him. "I'm fine, I'm fine; just got a little dizzy." He looked up at the towers of the city and smiled. "I missed you too, girl," he whispered softly.

Elizabeth smiled, suddenly realizing what had happened. "She's missed you too, if the way she's been acting is any sign. Radek already threatened to quit if I ever let you leave for this long again."

John's smile broadened into his wide, lop-sided grin. "My girl's been acting up, huh? Well, I have to say, I don't think I ever want to be gone that long again. I've missed everything about Atlantis. I knew this place had become home, but I guess I didn't realize how much."

"Now that you're home," said Caldwell, "I'd like to officially turn all of you over to Dr. Weir, delivered safe and sound."

Elizabeth nodded to the Colonel. "Thank you, Steven, for getting them all back to Atlantis. And thank you for waiting a few extra days until they were ready to go. It's good to have them home again."

John turned to Caldwell. "I think this is where I should thank you, sir, since I'm the one that held things up. I also wanted to thank you again for giving my father the grand tour of the _Daedalus;_ he was very impressed."

"You're welcome, Colonel. I'm just glad everything worked out all right. And I was happy to show Colonel Sheppard around."

"We should probably both be glad he's retired," John smirked. "He said if he was a few years younger, he'd probably be after one of our jobs."

Caldwell quirked an eyebrow. "I'm not too sure this place could handle two Sheppard's."

John's face remained neutral. "Actually, my father is old school. I think the two of you would probably get along quite well. Up until recently, I've been quite the disappointment."

Caldwell seemed unable to think of a response, just staring quietly at John for a moment before turning back to Elizabeth. "I'd better get the unloading started, Dr. Weir. I'll just leave them in your capable hands." At Elizabeth's nod, he turned and quickly left.

"I think you freaked the man out," commented Rodney. "I've never seen him quite so speechless."

John bobbed his head once to the side. "I didn't mean to. I was just telling the truth."

They all looked up as Major Lorne and Dr. Nick Strauhan walked up to join the group. Major Lorne gave a quick nod to John. "Colonel, I sure am glad you're back, sir. I'll be happy to turn the reigns back over to you."

"Not just yet," said Carson. "I haven't cleared him for any kind of duty yet."

Frowning, John rubbed his head and looked at Carson with pleading eyes. "Surely I could at least be on light duty until we get the physical therapy over with. Then I could take some of the strain off Lorne." He glanced over at Nick. "You know how the military works, convince him."

Nick shrugged his shoulders. "I haven't seen you or your test results in over a month. I'm not really qualified to make any kind of recommendation right now." The choir boy look on his face told John he wasn't about to step between the head of the military and the Chief Medical Officer and take sides at this point.

Carson sighed and shook his head once. "Come see me tonight after dinner, Colonel. By then, Nick and Dr. Robbins and I would have had time to talk and we can check out any remaining questions we may have. I think we can probably release you to light duty, but you aren't to take on too much too quickly or you'll be right back where you were."

"I know," John said, his serious expression and tone a lot more sincere that what Elizabeth was used to or expecting. "Thanks, Carson. I need to be doing something, even if it's just paperwork."

Carson nodded with an understanding smile; then, suddenly distracted he looked across the pier. "Nick, there's Dr. Robbins, now. Come on and I'll introduce you." Turning to the others, he waved. "Goodbye, all."

The others echoed their goodbyes to the two doctors. Lorne left next, stating he needed to oversee the processing of the goods unloaded from the _Daedalus_, which made John happy that he wasn't cleared for duty yet.

"There's Radek," said Rodney, waving at his friends as he took off to catch the scientist. "I'll see you guys later for lunch; after I see how _much_ of my city he's broken," he called over his shoulder.

Ronon grinned down at Teyla. "Want to spar?"

Smiling, Teyla nodded. "After we unpack our belongings." Turning to Elizabeth, she gave a respectful nod. "Thank you for allowing us to go see John and return on the _Daedalus_ with he and Rodney. I enjoyed the trip very much. Your planet is an interesting place."

Returning her smile, Elizabeth reached out to grasp Teyla's arm. "I should be thanking you for bringing them back to us. I knew having the team together would help."

"And it did," Teyla replied. Turning to John, she placed her hand on his. "I am glad that you are recovering well and it was very nice to meet your father. He is a wise and honorable man. I hope we will be able to see him again."

"Thanks," said John with a relaxed grin. "I'm glad he got to meet you guys, too. It made leaving a little easier on both of us I think. He knows I have back up here, the best in two galaxies." John looked up at Ronon. "Thanks to you, too, big guy. Having the two of you there . . . well, it made a big difference. Not sure I could have done it without you."

"We will see you at lunch," said Teyla. Ronon clasped his good shoulder briefly as the two of them walked by.

Elizabeth gave the two parting teammates a smile and a nod before turning back to John. "Why don't you walk me back to the control room."

"I'd be happy to," John responded with a grin. They waved to Caldwell as he talked to some of his men helping unload crates from the huge ship docked on the pier, and he responded with a nod.

Entering the city, they walked quietly for a time. As they began to pass a balcony, Elizabeth diverted their path onto the outer deck. Approaching the rail, she looked out over the city, towers looming almost crystalline above them. Her sharp intake of breath at its beauty was matched by John, causing her to smile as she turned to look at him.

John closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as he turned his face up to the warmth of the sun. He stayed that way, just breathing in for several moments while Elizabeth studied him. When he finally opened his eyes, he looked around at her and smiled sheepishly. "I didn't realize until just now how much I truly missed this place."

Grinning, Elizabeth nodded. "It gets into your blood and your soul, doesn't it?" She decided he looked more relaxed, the deep lines of stress from before having all but disappeared. He looked younger and that made her want to chuckle, but she held back all but an impish smile.

"What?" he asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

"Nothing; It's just . . . you look better, more relaxed."

The lop-sided grin made an appearance. "I guess it's time to fess up. In spite of the fact that you and Carson and Kate teamed up to force me back to Earth . . . it was a good idea. I didn't . . ." He sighed and ran his hand through his hair, shifting his gaze back to the city as he struggled, the smile fading away. "I didn't know how screwed up I was. I thought I had everything under control and . . . I didn't."

"What makes you think the three of us ganged up on you?" Elizabeth asked, knowing full well that that was exactly what they had done.

The pilot sighed and kinked one side of his mouth in a one-sided wince. "_Please, _I may have been stressed out, but I was never that out of it. I know the three of you thought I was losing it. Carson and Kate kept tiptoeing around me while trying to get me to talk about what happened and asking if I'd given up hope. And you kept coming down to the infirmary to practice your bedside manner. But the real give-away was all the looks you kept flashing each other, like you thought I couldn't see there was a whole conversation going on that I wasn't supposed to notice."

Elizabeth reddened slightly, looking down at her feet and wondering if they had really been that obvious. "John . . . I'm sorry. We just wanted to do what was best for you."

The grin came back, making Elizabeth's spirits rise just a bit. "I know. That's the only reason I'm not furious with all of you, although I admit I was at the time."

"Yes, we knew you were unhappy with the decision, but it worked out all right. It sounds like you made peace with your father."

John leaned against the railing and looked out across the city for a moment, making Elizabeth wonder if their conversation was over. "I think . . ." He paused to take in a deep breath, almost as if steadying himself. "I think maybe that's the reason I was finally able to let go of some things. It's weird how after all these years . . . your father wraps his arms around you and suddenly . . . you're a kid again." His voice trailed off to the point she could barely hear him.

Elizabeth put her hand on his arm, startling him slightly. "John . . . are you going to be okay? I have to ask . . . and I have to know."

John turned to face her, the smile briefly crossing his features. "Yeah . . . I'll be all right. I know I'm not there yet, but . . . I think I know what I need to do to get there now." He sighed and looked down at his arm in the sling. "By the time I get through with physical therapy, I'll be ready to go."

Frowning, Elizabeth worked up her courage to say what came next, knowing he wouldn't like it. "Before you return to full duty, I need Kate to clear you. You've been through a lot and I need to be sure you're okay before I send you back out there."

To her surprise, he smiled down at her. "I know and it's okay. I want you to know that I'm ready. And . . . I need to know that I'm ready. I'm not willing to put my team at risk. Just . . . please don't ask me to sign up for sessions before then. I think I can handle this."

Elizabeth pursed her lips a second, not sure if that was the best course of action. She had come to care very deeply about John Sheppard in the past three and a half years, but she had also learned that he handled emotional issues by not handling them. "John, you don't need to do this alone." She didn't want to push, but she didn't want him right back where he had started either.

"I don't plan on trying. I have a team, Elizabeth, and they're my friends, my family. I think between my father and them, I've learned a little about leaning on others when I need to. Okay, I'm still not very good at it, but I'm getting there. And he's got them reminding me at all the right times."

Crossing her arms, Elizabeth looked at him skeptically. "Oh, really? I wish I'd gotten the chance to meet your father."

"Me too," he grinned. "I think you'd like him. At least the way he is now."

"And how is that?"

John turned back to face the city, sunlight glinting off the towers around them. "The way he used to be . . . like . . . like someone who's not ashamed that I'm his son."

oOo

John was pretty sure he'd finally unpacked everything. He decided he was definitely tired enough as he sat on the edge of the bed. Lorne had given him the quick version of the main events that had occurred during his absence and he was already imagining a pile of paperwork with no end. He'd probably make sure to omit that little part of his day when he talked to Carson.

A quick knock at the door instantly gave way to Rodney coming through, even before John had time to answer. "Hey, you ready for lunch yet?" asked the scientist.

Standing, John put his good hand on his hip. "Come in, McKay. No, I'm not dressing or anything, but thanks for asking before barging in."

Rodney looked at him quietly for a moment and then held out a box that was roughly one foot square and two inches deep. "Your father asked me to give this to you when we got back to Atlantis."

John stared at the box for a moment before taking it. He then just stood looking at it for several seconds. "What is it?"

Shrugging his shoulders, Rodney sighed. "How should I know? I just agreed to deliver it."

Setting the box on the table, John lifted the top off to reveal an 8x10 framed picture of his father and mother and himself when he was ten.

Rodney peered into the box. "Hey, I saw that picture in your dad's house. The glass was all broken out and the frame was a mess from that Butler guy and his friends."

"Byers, not Butler." John lifted the picture out to reveal a folded piece of paper underneath. Laying the photo on the table, he took out the letter and straightened it.

"Uh, how about if I meet you in the mess hall," offered Rodney nervously.

John took a deep breath at the sight of his father's handwriting and pulled tightly on his emotions. "Yeah . . . okay . . . mess hall," he managed to whisper. He heard the door close behind Rodney and suddenly the room felt very large and very empty. Backing up until his legs hit the bed, he sat down hard on the mattress. Taking a deep breath, he began reading.

_John,_

_You're back in Atlantis now, home with your friends. I can't even begin to tell you how much I'll miss you. And I can't even begin to tell you how much it means to me that we've connected again after all these years. It truly is a new beginning for us. I hope our relationship can continue to grow._

_I don't know if you remember having this picture made when you were ten, but it's always been one of my favorites. For a long time, I couldn't look at it without thinking of everything I had lost. Mary and Jack have taught me to look at it and remember the good times and how lucky I am to have had them. I had a copy made for you, hoping you could do the same. I hope you'll remember the man I was then, and not the bitter man I became._

_I figure the last thing you want to hear is fatherly advice, but I'm giving it anyway. I have three main things to tell you._

_1. Quit carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. Stop second guessing everything you've done and how things might have worked out differently "if". You can never know if making a different decision would have worked out with better results. I know you can't stop all the guilt, but try to be rational about the guilt you do carry._

_2. Believe in yourself. I know this will take time to accomplish, but you're a wonderful leader (I've been told that by pretty much everyone) with skills that have kept a lot of people alive so far. Trust yourself. Your friends do._

_3. Lean on your friends/family. Remember that they not only want to help, they need to help – just like you feel the need to help them. Don't shut them out. When they reach out to you, think about how you would feel if you knew they needed help, but they shut you out when you tried to be there for them. Trust them to help you._

_I'm sure we'll be talking soon, even if it's just through emails and/or letters. Thank you for giving me the chance to be your father again. And always remember, son. I love you and I'm proud of you. _

_Dad_

John sat staring at the letter for a long time, torn between the joy of finding his father again and the pain of leaving him behind. He could still feel his father's arms around him, giving him the strength to keep going when he'd begun to think he couldn't any longer. Standing, he walked over to lay the letter on the table and run one finger lovingly down the picture.

Suddenly he could hear his mother's laughter in his head, could see her eyes dancing as she scolded him for not sitting still. Memories of meeting his father at the airport after he'd been gone for a year flitted through his head. Smiling, he closed his eyes and heard his mother crying as she yelled at his father for stopping the purse-snatcher, only to hug him and tell him how proud she was moments later.

"I can remember the good times," he whispered to himself. Taking a deep breath, he turned around and headed out the door, determined to meet his friends in the mess hall. He would continue to pull himself together and be ready when his team needed him. The comforting thrum of Atlantis in his head seemed to echo her support. Stepping out into the hall, he stopped short at seeing Rodney leaning against the opposite wall, waiting for him.

"I thought you went to the mess hall."

Rodney shrugged his shoulders. "Thought I'd wait for you." The scientist looked decidedly uncomfortable as he looked down at his feet and then back up at John. "So . . . you okay?"

John grinned, realizing how relaxed he felt, especially compared to before they had left. "Yeah . . . I'm getting there. And Rodney . . . uh . . . thanks."

Waving a hand at the pilot, Rodney began walking down the hall. "Sure . . . whatever . . . let's go before all the cake is gone."

Grinning, John followed his friend, knowing that he would make the changes he needed to make. Glancing ahead, he saw Ronon and Teyla appear from a side corridor to wait for them and he thought about how truly lucky he was to have such a group to work with and lean on. Even with all his perceived failures and weaknesses, they trusted him and he knew they always had his back. He still had a long way to go before he had truly put himself back together, but with the help of his team, his family, John had no doubt that he would be okay.

THE END


End file.
